#i want to do at least one from ev's pov | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eoieopda · 2 months ago

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in limine | wjh

in limine (latin): at the threshold, in the beginning

synopsis: you think that by remaining single this year, you’ve found a loophole in your string of shitty valentine’s days. the universe thinks you should lose your paralegal on the eve of a major trial and see if you wouldn’t rather have all of those untimely breakups and missed dates instead. pairing: wen junhui x reader au: law firm, coworkers to something genre: fluff, minor angst, smut word count: 12.5k rating: 18+ (minors, do not interact) content/warnings: attorney!reader, attorney!junhui, pov switches, civil litigation (derogatory), forced proximity, discussions of shitty relationships, i haven’t practiced in this field of law in years, recreational drinking, explicit sexual content (v fingering, p in v penetration; use of protection isn’t referenced — the smut is v prose-y —but these two would not fuck without a condom!!). reader notes: afab, no pronouns used, no descriptions of hair/complexion/body/ethnicity/nationality/etc., canonically queer, has at least one (small, nondescript, hidden wrist) tattoo. a/n 1: this fic is part of the lonely hearts club café collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! please check out the rest of this masterlist, as well as their previous collabs! 💕 a/n 2: everything here is based on u.s. law, even though the setting is nondescript. family law attorneys: i’m sorry. this is based on my one (1) month in that practice area. a/n 3: smooches to the (w)hor(e)anghae beta gang — @jihopesjoint, @daechwitatamic, and @sailorsoons svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

If you had a dollar for every exasperated sigh you’ve let out during this seemingly never-ending phone call with your mother, you’d be able to pay off your student loans in an instant. Though the frustration is palpable to you, causing your already elevated blood pressure to spike further, it’s invisible to her.

Or worse, inconsequential.

“I’m just saying!” She offers, as if this takes the edge off. As if she’s ever said anything just to say it. “It wouldn’t kill you to give Mika another chance. It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”

The next time you hear her voice, it doesn’t come from the phone pinched between your ear and shoulder; it materializes in the back of your brain and lingers like a poltergeist.

Don’t roll your eyes like that unless you want them to get stuck that way.

Across the counter, the person subbing in for your usual barista shoots you an impatient glare, then flicks his gaze to the growing line behind you.

“Mom, I have to —”

“— You really should return her calls, dove. Bitterness causes premature wrinkles, and you can’t afford —”

At this, the thread you’re dangling by snaps. Squeezing your eyes shut, you try your best to keep your voice down. “I don’t have time for this. I’ll talk to you later.”

When you hang up on her, the forceful tap against your phone’s screen sounds more like a rock against a window. Already wind-bitten from the walk here, your cheeks burn even more harshly when you note the multiple pairs of eyes watching you with poorly disguised interest.

Not wanting to make an even bigger spectacle out of yourself, you hurriedly shove your phone in your pocket and accept the drink being handed to you, even though you can tell by the blatant lack of ice that it’s wrong.

“Thank you,” you mutter with a curt nod.

The second-string barista doesn’t acknowledge that you’ve spoken. That said, the throbbing vein in his temple disappears the second you back away from his counter.

With the americano you didn’t order burning a hole through your palm, you turn swiftly and head for the door. You barely make it two steps before your phone starts screaming from the inside of your coat pocket.

Leaning hard against the glass door, you force it open with your body alone and use your spare hand to instead grasp the source of all your morning’s problems. The pressure of that godforsaken brick shoves the post of your earring painfully into your neck.

You growl, “When I said later, I didn’t mean by thirty seconds.”

A voice that is distinctly not your mother’s stammers, “Um — hello — This is Tom from Amato, Shapiro, and Santi.”

Never have you ever encountered a firm of assholes so aptly named.

He waits a beat, no doubt expecting you to apologize for your rude non-greeting, but you don’t. In fact, he could wait forever and still not get a mea culpa.

It’s only fair, you think.

Just last month, the serial sex pest he represents escaped liability for harassing your client, due in large part to Tom’s bullshit antics. If that poor woman couldn’t even get an apology for what she went through, Tom certainly won’t now.

“Yes, I know where you work, Tom.”

You roll your eyes again. It’s a reckless decision, given how furiously you’re charging down the sidewalk. A dog-walker scrambles to get both himself and his tiny, white dog out of your way.

“Do you need something? I don’t chat for free.”

The shitty little laugh you get in response makes your skin crawl. He doesn’t drag it out, though, immediately simpering, “But do you make use of the time you bill for?”

“What are you — ?” You begin to ask.

Tom cuts you off, his tone jovial and no less fake than his back alley Gucci loafers. “I’m inquiring about your witness and exhibit lists for the Qian divorce in two weeks. Really waiting until the last minute, huh? Trying to keep me on my toes?”

Though he can’t see you do it, you shake your head with a patronizing smile.

“Nice try, Tom,” you sigh. “Judge Ito continued that to May. She’s the keynote speaker for that cancerous children charity gala, or whatever.”

You weave through two old women with a muttered apology. Both are too busy gossiping about their grandsons to hear you, which is no surprise. They didn’t notice the queue of pissed-off pedestrians stuck behind their roadblock, either.

“No,” Tom corrects you. “She issued an entry a month ago, advising the parties that the conflict was no longer conflicting; and the original trial date would stand.”

The block heel of your boot catches in a divot in the sidewalk. Although you don’t trip, you may as well have. The coffee you didn’t want sloshes violently, goaded by your sudden, harsh squeeze of its cup; and it splatters all over your top, burning your chest through sticky, soaked fabric.

Because why not, you rue, the heel that did you in clatters separately to wet concrete when you lift your foot, having ripped itself from your sole.

Rather than lie down on the concrete and wait for death in the way you crave, you swallow hard and choke out, “I never got that entry.”

“It sounds like you never got competent support staff.” He laughs too loudly, making your blood boil. “Ultimately, it’s up to you which is more pressing: cleaning house or the Rules of Civil Procedure.”

Your mouth opens instinctively to tell him all the million ways he can fuck off and die. He cuts you off again before you can start:

“Just know that I will make it a problem if you can’t get your shit together in time for court. My client is sick of yours dragging this out. Frankly, so am I.”

And without another word, Tom hangs up on you.

Whatever.

Anything else he might’ve said would’ve been drowned out by the hammering pulse in your ears, anyway. What you did hear loops through your brain with every uneven step you take down the warpath, bringing your office building closer and closer into view.

Trial in two weeks.

Competent support staff.

As much as you hate to admit it, Tom has a point. You’ve been making excuses for your paralegal, Dev, for months, but this kind of fuck-up can’t be overlooked. No matter how endearing he is, Dev’s a goddamn disaster. Put simply, you can’t keep sticking your neck out for him only to have it trampled, time and again.

Dread churns in your stomach for the remainder of your commute, although the full-blown nausea doesn’t hit you until you exit the elevator and wobble out into your firm’s waiting area. A deep breath in through your nose is followed by a shaky exhale through your mouth.

Neither helps.

You make a mental note to tell your therapist that she was wrong, then another one to actually schedule an appointment.

Despite your unflinching exterior — and the profession you’ve willingly chosen for reasons still unknown to you — the simple fact remains that you don’t seek out confrontation. Nothing ruins your day quite like having to ruin someone else’s. Unfortunately for Dev, you don’t have a choice not to go nuclear. Likewise, you don’t have much time left to get your shit together prior to trial. All you seem to have is an ultimatum to present him for consideration:

Stay late with me tonight to clean up this mess, or be out of the job by the end of business hours.

“Fuck,” you mutter to yourself as you make a beeline for your personal office.

There, somewhere amidst the out-of-date statutory reference books and evidence boxes, you’ve got at least one pair of spare Chelsea boots hidden for circumstances like these.

Well, that’s not quite true.

You’ve planned ahead for sudden court appearances or shitty weather, not for the abysmally bad luck you’ve experienced so far this morning. Regardless of why you have this contingency plan locked down, you’re grateful that you do. If nothing else, it will allow you to obtain some semblance of balance before potentially kicking Dev to the curb.

Upon hobbling into your office, you close the door behind you and immediately kick off your current shoes so violently that the broken boot flies somewhere out of sight. It takes several minutes’ worth of sock-footed scurrying to find their replacements. Eventually, you locate them in a far more reasonable spot than you expected: tucked neatly underneath the far edge of your L-shaped desk.

You drop yourself into your desk chair, suddenly feeling the crushing weight of your burdens against your shoulders, and begin to unceremoniously shove your feet into your boots.

It all just fucking figures, doesn’t it?

For as far back as you can remember, every Valentine’s Day you’ve experienced has been hellish. Comically cruel, like the showrunners in charge of your narrative are trying to maintain viewership, season after season; and they’re upping the ante as they go.

Last year, Mika couldn’t be bothered to remember your relationship, let alone the holiday. She spent it underneath someone else in your bed. Before that, the “first date” you had to be talked into in the first place ended the same way it started: with you sitting alone at a bar in a crowd of perfect pairs. The pattern started in undergrad, though the memories thankfully get foggier the further back you look.

By staying away from romance entirely for the last few months, you’d made yourself so sure that you’d cracked the code — that, for once, you’d make it through the fourteenth unscathed.

And yet, here you are, suffering immensely before your day even starts.

When your therapist’s bullshit breathing technique does nothing to soothe you, you close your eyes and mutter to yourself, “It cannot get worse. It will not get worse. Bad things have happened, but it is not a bad day.”

Whether the sudden sense of calm you feel is the byproduct of mindfulness or delusion, you can’t say. Whatever the source is, you’ll take it. You cling to that shred of perspective, push yourself to your feet with a grunt, and head back in the direction you just came from.

Outside your door, the hallway gives you two options: the waiting area, which you stomped through to get where you currently are, and the office shared by your firm’s two current paralegals.

Tsia, the more senior of the two, is currently on maternity leave, which means that you’ll be able to dangle Dev off the ledge without an audience. That tiny piece of consolation is enough to get you moving in his direction, although the serenity you just barely managed to scrounge up starts evaporating more and more with every step you take.

“Dev?” You call out as you approach his closed door.

This, you note, is unlike him. He’s never been productive enough to need to shut out distractions; and he’s never been shameful enough to hide the fact that he spends most days scrolling through TikTok — without headphones, no less.

“Dev?” You try again, attempting to sound much more pleasant than you feel. “Are you on the phone?”

Hearing no response, you reach for the knob and turn it slowly, offering him some additional time to at least pretend to be busy. After counting to five, you push the door open. Then, you freeze.

Dev and his blasted cell phone are nowhere to be seen. His work laptop is on, which might have suggested that he simply stepped away, but the backlit sheet of paper taped to it says otherwise. You cross to his desk and snatch the note from his screen, eyes scanning quickly through his shockingly neat script and widening with horror at every word.

Boss,

Please consider this my resignation letter. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you in advance, but everything came about so suddenly that I haven’t had much time to wrap my brain around it. My partner’s business trip to Malta turned into a relocation offer, and now the two of us are going to –

Without bothering to finish that sentence, you crush the paper within your white-knuckled fist and squeeze your eyes shut tightly enough to sting.

FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK.

Unable to scream out loud, you slam that same fist down onto his desk with force. The smack of your hand against the wood doesn’t distract from the panic swelling in your chest, but it does bring his laptop back to life. The sudden appearance of his desktop is especially surprising, considering you told him no fewer than ten times to password-protect his shit.

Because the hits simply will not stop coming, you see two things at once that make you want to vomit.

The desktop wallpaper is an adorable photo of Dev and his partner. Both are smiling, holding one another closely on a beach somewhere, as if the world isn’t capable of crashing down around them.

At the bottom of the screen, below sand-covered feet, is a growing list of push notifications on his minimized Outlook application.

It’s the last thing in the world you want to do, but you can’t help it; damage control is impossible if you can’t properly triage the problem. Swallowing down bile, you click on the icon and bring up your firm’s primary email inbox, which Tsia and Dev are jointly responsible for manning. Of the hundreds of untouched messages, more than half are from either local Clerks of Court or Tom fucking Santi.

Just above the notice of your now-upcoming trial, you find the only January emails that Dev did read, confirming one-way plane tickets to Malta and the booking of international movers. That motherfucker not only lied in his quote-unquote resignation letter about the amount of notice he could give you but also about the billable hours he burned, planning his escape.

All at once, you feel your internal systems crashing out. Your eyes swim, your head reels, and your stomach lurches. You don’t know whether you want to scream, sob, or send yourself flying out of the nearby window. All of them — preferably at once.

The only reason you don’t do any of these things, no matter how strong the urges are, is the fact that your professional reputation is at stake. Your abject refusal to appear incompetent kicks you into overdrive. It kicks you so far, in fact, that you find yourself in your co-worker’s office with no real memory of walking there in the first place.

Yuki jolts when she looks up from her monitors and finds you looming over her with your eyes too wide to be normal. She gets up immediately and gestures for you to sit on the plush loveseat underneath her window. You don’t – rather, can’t – move, so she places her hands on your shoulders and ushers you onto a cushion herself.

“Dear god,” she mutters. “Are you okay?”

She should know by now that this is the worst possible question to ask you under circumstances like this. Of course, you weren’t okay when you barged in here to begin with. You’re even worse off now because your weakness is being perceived.

Embarrassment and self-loathing bubbles under the surface of your skin, making you hot. Both threaten to leak out through your eyes.

You don’t want to have to ask for help, period, but you’re out of options; and Yuki is the only person here who’s allowed to see you anywhere near a breakdown. That, and you’re certain she’d be available. Having drafted the shared parenting agreement for her and her ex-boyfriend, you know for a fact that their daughter will be with him tonight.

“If I buy you takeout, would you be willing to stay for a while after work to help with some last minute trial prep?” You can’t even bring yourself to meet her eyes when you explain, “Dev bailed, and I’m so, so, so fucked now.”

Yuki grabs your hand from your lap and squeezes. For a split second, you feel relieved. Then, you hear her sigh, and your hopes are dashed just as quickly as they were raised.

“Kimiko’s kindergarten class is having a daddy-daughter dance for Valentine’s Day tonight,” she starts.

The pained look on her face tells you everything you need to know. Nevertheless, she continues, “Ty flaked, as usual. I had to be the one to decide what would be more humiliating for her — being the only kid there with their mom, or the only kid who doesn’t get to go at all.”

“I’m so sorry, Yuki.”

You mean it, wholeheartedly. The only victim of your shitty love life is you. Yuki, on the other hand, has a six-year-old to protect from becoming collateral damage.

She simply shrugs, too used to this sort of letdown to let it ruin her day. “Kimiko bounced back fairly quickly, which is pretty sad, in and of itself. She asked if we could wear matching outfits.”

You crack a smile for the first time all day. Gesturing to her entirely black, incredibly chic outfit, you tease, “Is she dressing for a funeral, too?”

“I wish!” Yuki throws her head back and whines, “The vibes tonight are tragically bright pink, and I have to leave early to shop before the dance starts.”

“Well…” You give her hand a squeeze, then let it go entirely. “I’m sending you thoughts and prayers, buddy.”

She swats at you, tells you kindly to fuck off, and then wishes you good luck while you head back out her door.

As you trudge back towards your office, you run through your list of contingency plans.

The firm’s owners, Zavier and Jaein, are both out of the question. If they’re not spending the night with their respective spouses, they’ll be continuing their not-so-secret affair with one another. Even if they weren’t, you’d rather stand in front of an oncoming train than give them any reason to doubt your abilities.

Next.

With Yuki out of commission, there are three other associate attorneys left for you to consider.

Dani is engaged and definitely has plans with his smoke-show of a fiancé; there’s no point in asking him for help. You’d never hear the end of it if you did, anyway. He’s so committed to his one-sided rivalry with you that he’d probably make a plaque to commemorate your failings.

Pass.

Sana and her wife are on a cruise somewhere far more pleasant than here, so she’s out. Thank god. Beating your head against a wall would be preferable to spending several hours in a room alone with her. Sana’s only personality trait is married, and she’s entirely incapable of talking about anything else.

Hard pass.

The relatively new hire, Junhui, is still an unknown factor. In the few months he’s worked here, you’ve met him exactly once that you can recall. It was a brief encounter in the break room; and his mouth was so full of whatever he’d brought for lunch that he couldn’t respond beyond simply waving when you’d introduced yourself.

He seemed perfectly nice — and from what you hear, he’s perfectly competent — but yours is far too big a burden to shove onto a virtual stranger.

Besides, there’s simply no way that someone who looks like that doesn’t have better places to be tonight.

Junhui doesn’t realize that he’d nodded off until his bleary eyes travel down from his half-finished report and spot the time in the bottom corner of his screen. Apparently, it’s already a quarter to six. If he hadn’t fallen asleep at some point in the recent past, he’d be stepping off the train home by now.

Of course, he isn’t. Now, with all the other commuters flooding public transit, the trip home will be at least twice as long.

Damn it.

He scrubs his hands over his face in an attempt to get the exhaustion off of it, though he doesn’t manage without yawning into his palms.

Figuring that he’s already behind schedule, he slowly rises to his feet and stretches his arms over his head with a groan, dreaming all the while of the caffeine he can down before heading out. With no one left in the office, he’ll be able to fail his way through this acquisition without anyone knowing how completely inept he is at using the firm’s espresso machine.

As expected, Junhui’s walk to the conference room is lonely. Each of his colleagues’ doors are closed, making it clear that they all bolted the second they could. Even the cleaning staff managed to come and go without him noticing; all the trash and recycling bins have been emptied.

Thankfully, he notes, someone forgot to turn off the conference room light before they dipped. If they hadn’t, all his steps would be taken in total darkness — because, even after three months of working here, he still doesn’t have a clue where the switches are.

As soon as he crosses the threshold into that sole, lit room, Junhui stops. The massive table that normally occupies the center of it has been shoved up against the interior wall, along with all its chairs. In its place, evidence boxes form a haphazard little fairy circle on the rug. You sit cross-legged in the middle, nose all but buried in a case file, wearing leggings and a crewneck instead of the suit you likely came here in.

“You look comfortable,” he muses.

It becomes abundantly clear very quickly that you, too, thought you were here alone. You jolt at the sound of his voice. All the papers you were holding drop and scatter, both across your lap and the floor you’re monopolizing.

Junhui’s hands fly up. “Whoa, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

The look on your face is far from startled, though. Even from a few meters away, he can see how tightly your jaw is clenched. If he listens closely, he’d likely hear your teeth grinding one another into dust.

He can also sense how stiff your posture is, now that you feel his eyes on you. His gaze shifts to the piles of paper near your knotted limbs; and he tells himself that he’s averting his eyes out of respect, not the tiny tremble of intimidation he feels working its way down his spine.

At this point, Junhui knows you by reputation only. He’s rarely at any of the courthouses you frequent, and his specific line of work keeps him out of the office, more often than not. Whenever he is here, you’re not — too busy with that massive caseload of yours to catch much of a breather.

The two of you may be passing ships in the night, but you have a lot of people in common. He can’t say that he’s made much of an impression on them so far. You, on the other hand, are both widely known and discussed.

So far, anyone that’s ever mentioned you to him speaks about you as if they’re describing a force of nature. It’s the kind of awe people usually save for something fearsome yet worthy of respect, like a tsunami — with the sole exception being that sanctimonious cunt, Tom Santi, who most recently described you as a nightmare bitch from hell.

Of course, Junhui has no firsthand knowledge to back any of these claims up, but he figures it can’t be that far out of character for you to be here now, working too hard. For all he knows, it could also be on-brand for you to snap his neck for distracting you.

“Do you…?”

One of your eyebrows arches quizzically. His question dies on his tongue, halfway finished, because he doesn’t know where it was headed in the first place. Just the same, he can’t tell if that expression on your face is due to stress, annoyance at being interrupted, or some secret, third thing.

…Want me to leave?

Junhui points awkwardly to the espresso machine in the corner, which you’ve unintentionally barricaded behind the conference room table. Like a fucking buffoon, all he says is: “Espresso?”

Your face scrunches a tiny bit. For the second time, he finds himself completely unable to read you. Is it disgust? Suspicion?

No, he realizes, it’s neither. He sees the tiniest flicker of it when the corner of your lips twitch: amusement. While the smile doesn’t overtake your mouth, there’s a glimmer of it in your eyes. It’s reason enough for Junhui to breathe for the first time since he walked in.

“Yes, I do espresso.” You nod with your lips bitten between your teeth, like you’re seconds away from laughing.

Too eagerly, Junhui nods, too. “Right. Got it. Order up.”

Order up?

Running away isn’t an option; and he can’t dig a hole to hide in without a shovel. All he has left to do is shuffle over towards the corner and slink through the obstacle course you’ve built. With what he feels is impressive agility, he makes it all the way to the machine before pausing suddenly.

Under his breath, he curses, “Fuck.”

The jig is up now. Junhui has no idea which buttons to press, or even where the espresso beans are. Unfortunately for both of you, the only way for him to find out is to interrupt you further.

Whoever handles his eulogy better leave out how little time it took him to provoke you into killing him.

Bracing himself for impact, he squeezes his eyes shut and smiles sheepishly. “Do you happen to know how to… use this?”

There’s a groan from the center of the room. Junhui cracks one eye open and searches for the fist coming his way. Instead, he finds you on your feet, twisting at the waist and stretching.

While twisting, you lock eyes — well, eye — with him, then you freeze with your torso still rotated in his direction. Your hinged arms stay where they are, held up at your sides.

“I’ve been sitting here like a goblin for too long,” you explain, tone self-conscious. “If you just heard every joint in my body pop…. no, you didn’t.”

Before Junhui can think of a quip in response — he’s capable of coherent speech, he swears — you step over the shoes you’ve discarded and make your way over to him, patterned socks clashing with the neutral carpet below. He steps back on instinct, although there isn’t really anywhere left for him to go.

You either don’t notice how close you get to him, or you don’t care. Entirely unfazed, you set to work, grinding and tamping like it’s all second nature to you.

Junhui knows he should use this time to observe your processes carefully, but he doesn’t. That’s not to say the learning opportunity is entirely squandered, though.

And he’s a quick study.

In less than a minute, he learns more about you than he has in the last three months. His first discovery is that you’re wearing a watch on your dominant wrist, which is weird as hell — until he spots the small tattoo hiding beneath it. He catches the very faint notes of patchouli at the base of your perfume, too, underneath the cassis and freesia.

It’s nice, he thinks, even better than the overwhelming scent of coffee that swoops in to drown it out.

“This goes here —”

The silver piece in your hand twists into place with a click, drawing his attention back to where it should’ve been all along.

Fuck.

Have you been talking this entire time?

“— and then you press the start button to release the hot water.”

You glance up at him then to confirm that he understood you. Junhui blinks, buffering while he tries to play this out.

“You’re good at this,” he improvises, although he admittedly has no idea if this is true.

“No compliments until you survive drinking it.” You offer him a wry smile to go with the drink you’ve made him. “I’ve quite literally never touched this thing before in my life.”

With your vaguely expectant eyes on him, he takes a small sip, then he murmurs with his lips still hidden behind the glass, “I don’t think I believe that.”

“Why?” You smirk and tilt your head to the side. “Because it’s just that good?”

No, in fact, it’s terrible, but you don’t need to know that.

Junhui nods his head towards the center of the room. His reply is simple, and despite not being the full truth, it’s not a lie: “I’d expect more practice from someone who seems to live here.”

For the first time since he walked in, you offer a full reaction — not just a hint of one. He would’ve preferred a laugh, or even a genuine smile; however, that’s not what he gets. Instead, your face becomes pinched.

“Fucking Dev.”

Whatever thought you might have had about making your own shitty drink disappears. You stalk back over to your shrine of documents and drop once again to the floor, legs knitted. In the split second you’re not looking at him, Junhui spits out the bean shards you missed while grinding and tosses them in the nearby trash can.

Although he’s curious, he hesitates to ask what it is you’re working on. Clearly, whatever it is has got you stressed to the point that caffeine is no longer a priority. Based on personal experience, that’s a bad sign.

Still, Junhui can’t seem to stop talking to you, even though he’s sure it’s a bother. He takes a second look at the sheer amount of paper surrounding you and ventures a guess: “Class-action suit?”

“That would honestly be preferable,” you mutter, looking up from your notes long enough to glance over your shoulder at him.

He takes this as a sign that his presence isn’t entirely unwelcome. At least, it’s a good enough omen to draw him closer. He skirts back around the mess of chairs until he’s standing across from where you sit, and then he leans back against the table.

You look back down again, leaving Junhui to wonder if he made the wrong call. For what it’s worth, he also wonders what it really is about you that’s making him act so awkwardly all of the sudden.

“What are you still here for?”

His heart drops into his stomach, which is about ready to fall right out of his ass. His mouth opens, though nothing comes out.

Sensing the way he’s quietly spiraling, you look up at him. “In the office, I mean,” you amend quickly with a shake of your head. “We don’t really run into each other during business hours, so I didn’t expect to see you here after, you know?”

Ah, fuck.

Junhui swallows.

The truth — that he’s only here because he dozed off on the clock — is offensive, even to him. Here you are, working hard enough for two people; and in stomps the clown whose tasks bored him right to sleep. While he doesn’t want anyone to know about his unprofessional little snooze, the thought of admitting it to you feels…

Nope.

He’s not going to unpack this, not now. It doesn’t matter if it’s a desire to not look dumb in front of a colleague or one to be a little more impressive to you, specifically.

“I was working on an investigatory report,” he eventually says, conveniently leaving out the fact that his impromptu nap kept him from finishing it.

You arch an eyebrow again, which he’s beginning to believe is an unconscious tell of yours. Yet another quiet invitation.

“Investigatory report? Is that… common?”

The two of you look at each other. Now, he’s confused.

“You do immigration law, don’t you?” You gesture over his shoulder, out the door. “You’ve got five different name plates outside your office, written in as many different alphabets —”

Oh.

“— I kind of just assumed —”

Junhui laughs, which causes your other eyebrow to rise up and join the other. “I mean, I dabble. It’s all soul-crushing, though, so I try not to take those cases unless they’re, like, dire.”

Too many of them are.

You hum in acknowledgment. “So, what do you do?”

“Guardian ad Litem work, mostly,” he replies with a shrug. “The name plates are —“

He gestures vaguely, but then all that suppressed, systemic frustration starts to bubble up, unbidden. He’s never been great at withholding his little rants, so he starts talking a little too quickly, a little too loudly.

“There are a lot of immigrant families in the area, right? Whether or not they should, a lot of them wind up court-involved, especially where their kids are concerned.”

As aware as he is that his hands are moving too much with each word, he’s unable to stop.

“I noticed that absolutely nobody on the local courts’ appointment lists was multilingual, which is just fucking negligent —”

When you finally speak, it’s with your head tilted and eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Sounds to me like someone found their calling.”

And against his better judgment, Junhui takes his balled up fist, extends his thumb and pinky finger, and holds it up to his ear. “Might have been a wrong number, but it’s worked out well enough so far.”

And you laugh, sincerely and squeakily in a way that nearly makes him laugh, too.

“You’re weird. You know that, right? Like weird weird.” You grin as you say this, leading him to believe it’s a compliment of the highest order. “I never would’ve guessed.”

Junhui looks at you, looking at him, and he feels the charge your shitty espresso couldn’t muster. He feels bolder. Gesturing to your mountain of documents, he finally brings himself to ask why you’re still here. The second he does, he regrets it; he watches you deflate in real time, smile warping downwards.

“It’s a clusterfuck.”

You take your eyes off of him and plant them back on the file in your hands.

“I found out that a nasty trial of mine is taking place in two weeks, rather than twelve, and I have to get shit together tonight or I’m fucked – genuinely, irrevocably fucked. I can’t file a Witness and Exhibit List until I get through all of this discovery–”

You shift your extended left leg to give one of the boxes a half-hearted kick.

“– and if I don’t submit that for electronic filing by midnight, all my shit will be excluded.”

Junhui nods his understanding, then pushes himself off the table he’s been leaning on. You watch him carefully, waiting for him to excuse himself and walk out the door, but that was never his intention. Instead, he sits cross-legged on the floor across from you and grabs a packet of exhibit stickers off one of the nearby boxes’ lids.

“Letters or numbers?” He asks, holding the packet aloft.

You blink before you splutter, “Oh, wait, no. No, you really don’t have to. I couldn’t ask you to –”

“Letters or numbers?” Junhui repeats himself, softer but no less seriously.

“You seriously don’t have other plans?”

Now, it’s his turn to balk. Unlike you, his shock is entirely manufactured. “On a work night? In this economy?”

“On Valentine’s Day,” you correct him with emphasis.

Rather than feigned horror, it’s earnest embarrassment that floods his face. The tips of his ears start burning, too, in a matter of seconds. Smiling sheepishly, he admits, “Guess I forgot. Don’t really have much to celebrate, you know?”

You raise the manila folder in your hand and reach over to tap it against the packet of stickers in his.

“Cheers to that,” you scoff.

Junhui, it turns out, is even more productive than you are. He falls into lockstep with you the moment he sits down, and other than asking him to hand you things that are closer to him than to you, you don’t need to direct him.

Better still, he anticipates. Every time you finish reviewing one exhibit, he’s holding another one out to you – pre-marked – with a packet of post-it tabs for you to mark especially relevant pages. Though you certainly didn’t ask him to, the tabs he gives you follow a color-scheme, creating a key for easier reference.

Green for financial records, red for social media posts and other electronic communications, blue for your clients’ extensive medical and therapy records.

In only a handful of hours, you comb through everything you need to in order to truly start preparing. The sinkhole that’s been occupying your stomach since this morning disappears. In its place, all that’s left is a void of a different kind.

“I’m starving,” you announce suddenly and dramatically, flopping onto your back with your arm flung over your forehead. “Are you?”

When you don’t get a response, you pull your arm away from your face and crack one eye open in the face of the overhead fluorescents. If your vision wasn’t already blurry from all the time spent reading, this stupid decision likely would’ve blinded you. Thankfully, your eyes still work well enough to look over at Junhui.

Where Junhui was, rather.

You blink, dumbfounded. You didn’t see or hear him leave, which begs the question: were you too locked-in to hear his goodbye, or did he slip past you like Casper the Selflessly Helpful Ghost? You don’t know when it was that he even left, or why it is that you’re frowning now for the first time in six hours.

You reach for your phone to text him and ask. It’s in your hand before you realize that you don’t have his number and back in your pocket before you feel yourself truly start to pout. Although he was putting in unpaid labor on your behalf, you’d gotten the impression that he was enjoying himself. You were, anyway.

Deciding that you can manage lonely better than hungry, you force yourself to sit up, then to your feet. Without bothering to put your shoes back on, you step over the paper fortress you’ve spent all night building and shuffle off with heavy eyelids towards the door.

Someone in this office has to have snacks, whether they’d be okay with you sniping some or not. You cross your fingers while you head for the breakroom and hope for a nice, unexpired yogurt, at the very least. Maybe a leftover packet of oyster crackers if you’re lucky – ones that aren’t stale if you’re especially so.

Before you can step foot into the breakroom, a sudden, muffled shout snaps you out of your famished, fugue state.

“Hot!”

Your gaze snaps from the floor to Junhui, who stands in front of you with both of his hands full. His eyebrows now occupy the space immediately below his hairline; his eyes are wider than you would’ve previously thought humanly possible. Relief splashes over you. If you’re being honest, it doesn’t have a damn thing to do with the two steaming bowls of buldak ramen you just narrowly avoided crashing into.

With two, paper-wrapped pairs of chopsticks held between his teeth, Junhui can’t say much of anything. That doesn’t stop him from trying, though. “Ih ooh mih meh?”

“What?” You snort.

Realizing how truly useless that question is, you reach up and carefully pluck the chopsticks from his mouth. A heart-shaped smile takes their place.

“I asked if you missed me,” he simpers. “I told you I’d be right back.”

You blink twice, quickly.

Did he?

He jerks his head in the direction of the conference room. “C’mon. You’re hungry, and I’m burning through my epidermis.”

As soon as you side-step out of his way, Junhui takes off at a laughable pace, footsteps measured and careful to avoid sloshing hot soup as he goes. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from telling him how much he looks like those sprint-walkers turning laps at the local mall. All he needs is a tracksuit.

When you finally catch up to him, you find that he’s already set both bowls onto the table and pulled up a chair. One chair. You open your mouth to ask him about this, but he senses your question coming and waves it away with his hand.

“There’s only ten minutes left to file your Witness and Exhibit List,” he points out.

You don’t doubt him enough to check your watch, but you’re surprised to learn that he’s kept track of your deadline, even when you haven’t. Both of you move at once, nearly colliding a second time on your respective routes to your laptop.

Oh.

That single chair is for you.

“Seriously, eat,” Junhui urges. “I’ve got this.”

He sits down on the floor and hauls your computer into his lap without another word. You can’t seem to move, though. You simply stand there, watching him, and try to fight the very unexpected urge you suddenly feel to cry.

In fact, you’re still standing there when he calls out to you without looking up. “Case parties and who else?”

“The fertility –” You swallow thickly then clear your throat. “The fertility doctor, Eve Nguyen. She’s testifying to the in vitro hell my client put herself through while her husband was withholding the truth about his vasectomy from her.”

Junhui types furiously as you talk, face scrunching up in disgust without turning away from your screen.

“Her therapist, too: Phoebe Miller. She’ll testify to the impact of the hormone treatments on Ms. Al-Hamin’s mental health, and the sheer amount of time she spent sobbing on Ms. Miller’s couch when she finally found out about her shitbag husband’s useless balls.”

“Eat,” Junhui urges again, more emphatically this time. He gestures with his head to the table, where the ramen he made for you is still waiting. “I mean it. I’ll figure out a more court-appropriate way to phrase shitbag husband’s useless balls.”

You do as he says and sink down into the chair he pulled out for you, pulling the food toward you eagerly. Thankfully, he doesn’t glance over at you to confirm that you are in fact eating. Though you’ve bonded quickly in this little trench of yours, he doesn’t yet have the kind of security clearance a person would need to see you scarf down noodles with reckless abandon.

Maybe eventually the two of you will get to a point where he can perceive you unhinge your jaw like a snake just to devour a meal.

Today is not that day.

Without needing to be asked, Junhui switches his focus to the stack of numbered exhibits to his left. As he thumbs through them, he adds each one to your Exhibit List in order, then quickly shuffles the one he’s identified to the bottom of the stack. He does it all so effortlessly that he finishes that task before you’ve finished your food.

Unfortunately for you, that means he looks up in time to see the massive, final bite you stuff into your gaping maw. It’s not disgust that you’re met with, though. It’s something soft, a smile that’s entirely present in his eyes. You freeze and thaw at the same time, not giving a shit that those things should be mutually exclusive.

“Do you want to look this over before I e-file it?”

You shake your head, mouth too full to tell him that you trust him. Setting the empty cardboard bowl down on the tabletop, you offer him a thumbs up instead, which makes him laugh; then a finger-heart, which makes him laugh harder.

Although he could, Junhui doesn’t stand up right away. He goes right back to typing, throwing you for a loop.

“Hey,” you say. When he doesn’t stop, you do your best to mimic his softly commanding voice. “Eat.”

He shakes his head. When he speaks, he sounds a thousand miles away; too focused to be fully present. “I’m already over here. I might as well file these subpoenas.”

Now, you really want to cry.

“I don’t even know how to thank you.” You laugh to hide how close to tears you are. “Seriously. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who’d stay this late to help someone, let alone someone I hardly know.”

Junhui presses down on the trackpad, definitively hitting submit on the last of your work for the night. He closes your laptop, sets it back down on the box to his left, then turns to you.

“I think you would,” he disagrees with a gentle shake of his head. “Besides, I can’t say that I hardly know you anymore. I got paid for my labor with lore.”

You snort out a laugh. The buldak sauce lingering in your throat burns your sinuses, prompting you to close your eyes tightly and laugh even harder. When you reopen your eyes, it’s impossible to tell whether the tears on your lash line are steeped in mirth, spice, or bone-deep gratitude.

“Don’t say that like it’s just compensation,” you warn.

Junhui tilts his head to the side, his stare innocent and not at all challenging. “Isn’t it?”

Outwardly, you roll your eyes. Inwardly, there’s a war amidst the butterflies in your stomach; the majority love the way he looks at you when he’s perplexed, while the rest scream not to fall into the same old trap for the millionth year in a row.

You force a change in subject lest you start to choke on all the honey dripping from your eyes.

“How about you actually eat this ramen you made while I clean up the mess I made of this room?”

Junhui sighs like he’s truly put-upon. Nevertheless, he holds one hand out to you, silently requesting that you haul him to his feet. Figuring it’s the very least you can do, you oblige. He’s towering over you in no time, shooting you a tiny, thankful smile that sends your brain into a tailspin.

He eats, and you busy yourself with the numerous trip hazards around him: first, shuffling your case files and boxes to the side of the room, then wheeling both Junhui and his chair back where the latter belongs. He protests all the while — not because you scoot him without his consent, but because you wave off every single suggestion he makes about waiting until he’s done so he can help.

“You’ve done enough!” You grunt as you forcibly drag the table back into place. “There’s above and beyond, and then there’s you — way past that.”

His cheeks go pink while he goes quiet. You bravely decline to stare at that dusty rose color and instead hop foot to foot while you tug your boots back on.

“I feel awful that you’re going to get, like, five hours of sleep before you have to come back here. Do you have —”

You lose your balance and the rest of that sentence, but you gain Junhui’s hands on your upper arms, preventing you from falling over entirely.

“— court in the morning?” You supply breathlessly, a little too shocked by his quick reflexes and concerned eyes to function.

Junhui waits for you to let go of the back of your boot and regain your footing before peeling his hands off you and shoving them quickly into the pockets of his coat. His response comes a bit clumsily, though you don’t have much room to talk.

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head and shrugging. “My schedule is pretty light this month, actually.” Then, he smiles sheepishly. “Especially compared to yours.”

Eyes narrowing playfully, you snip, “Don’t brag, Wen Junhui. It’s uncouth.”

He pauses for a second then asks, “Is it couth with you if I walk you out?”

Your jaw damn near drops. His response is so stupid, so hopelessly devoid of rizz despite the beat he took to think of it, and yet you’re powerless in the face of it.

This man is a loser; and even though there are a million Human Resource-related reasons why you shouldn’t, you kind of want him.

No, you do want him.

Badly.

You swallow that burgeoning need like a shot, then you let out a measured, cooling breath.

“I’ll allow it,” you sniff.

The subsequent walk to the elevator, as well as the ride down, aren’t quiet. You’re grateful, but you can’t take credit; Junhui keeps the conversation going easily, notwithstanding your distinct lack of input.

If he notices how quiet you’ve gone, it doesn’t seem to bother him. Just the same, if he notices how intently you watch him while he talks, he gives you the benefit of the doubt.

Before tonight, it never really occurred to you how pretty he is. Of course, you haven’t been blind. Your few passing encounters clued in you in that he was good-looking, at least from a distance, but he’s something else entirely when he stands as close to you as he is now. You can’t even pretend to look anywhere else.

No matter how many sharp angles he has — the high bridge of his nose, the L-shape of his jaw, and the peaks of his cheekbones — there’s softness to balance it out. You see it in the heart-shaped curve of his mouth when he smiles; the faint freckle directly above it; and the cat-like, slow blink when he occasionally glances down at you. It’s present in the almost breathy tone of his voice, the one that makes it sound like he’s reaching you through some dreamlike haze.

But then you realize how fucking stupid it is for you to look at anyone the way you currently are, let alone a co-worker.

You made a pact with yourself after breaking up with Mika to keep to yourself for the foreseeable future — to protect yourself from the series of unfortunate romantic events you can’t otherwise seem to avoid. For eight months, you’ve stuck to it, even though you’re lonely. It’s been working, too. Nobody’s been able to shatter you because you haven’t given anyone the hammer or the opportunity.

And your avoidance isn’t just for your own good, either. Something about you either draws shittiness out of people or grows it where none existed before. Everyone you’ve dated in recent years was fine until they got too close; they all seem to be better off now that they’ve gotten away from you. In fact, if your social media creeping has taught you anything, it’s that Mika is the only one of your exes not happily in a relationship.

The pattern is too significant at this point to be a coincidence, and though you try to pass it all off as shitty luck, you’re the common denominator amidst all these disasters.

Shouldn’t you be held accountable for that?

“Look alive, sunshine.”

You snap back to attention with a jolt.

Junhui stands in the opening of the elevator with his hand on the frame, actively preventing the door from closing on you. You didn’t hear the bell go off when it opened; you have no idea how long you’ve been standing there, zoned-out stare fixated on the floor.

He sees what must be a bewildered expression on your face and laughs. “Did you fall asleep with your eyes open? I apparently do that sometimes, too.”

“No, I —” You shake your head while you start to explain, but then your brain stops buffering. “I’m sorry, you what?”

“I didn’t say anything. Out you come!”

You let Junhui usher you out of the elevator, but as you do, you crane your neck to look up at him with unabashed wonder. “Like a prey animal?”

He holds his left index finger up to his lips to silence you, then goes as far as actually shushing you. The tips of his ears peek out from his wavy hair, bright red against the dark.

“Like a little bunny?” You tease, tugging at the hem of his coat.

He rolls his eyes, though no part of him seems annoyed in the slightest. He doesn’t even move away from you. Instead, he rebuts you while lingering at your side, “No.”

You take your fist and rest it on top of your head with your middle and index fingers extended upward, smiling brattishly while you wait for Junhui to look back over at you.

His gaze is locked on the door ahead, however. He raises his arm and points, drawing your attention. “What is that?”

The second you see it, you drop your head back and groan with everything you’ve got. “Fuuuuuuck.”

That would be the security gate, which the building security staff lowers over the front doors when they leave for the night. It’s electronic and can be easily opened with a passcode — which you don’t have.

“Oh, my god.” You shove your face into your palms. “Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about the fucking gate. I don’t even know what time they close it.”

“There’s a pin pad over there.”

You can’t see him, but you’re sure he’s pointing.

“You’ve worked here for a while. They gave you the code, right?”

You will yourself to shrink, to turn into a speck of dirt on the floor and be promptly kicked away. If he can’t see you, he can’t hate you for getting him locked in the goddamn building after donating hours of his time to help you.

Oh, you fucking clown.

Swallowing harshly, you whisper, “I’ve never stayed late enough to need it. I’m seriously so sorry. Technically, we can get out through the emergency fire exit, but that will —”

“— Set off all the alarms and sprinklers,” Junhui correctly assumes, prompting you to nod with your head still buried in your hands.

Silence creeps in then and settles over the two of you, suffocatingly thick like a fire blanket. It’s fitting, given how badly embarrassment burns your cheeks. You want nothing more than to curl up and die — right here, where security can find you in the morning and atone on their knees for trapping you like a rat.

But then Junhui laughs — really, truly, deeply laughs — so hard that you feel him momentarily double over at your side.

You part your fingers and peek over at him through the gaps. With his eyes screwed shut, the mirthful tears have nowhere to go except the far corners of his eyes. They streak down his temples, glowing a hazy shade of blue due to the colored security lamps overhead.

“I’m sorry.” His apology comes out squeaky on the tail of a wheezing laugh. “No one should have to spend this many consecutive hours with me. God, you were so close to freedom.”

You buy into the bit, rather than admit to the tiny thrill spinning dizzy circles in your brain. “It is a tremendous burden, yes. Of all today’s trials and tribulations, you will be my undoing.”

Junhui wipes his cheek, then glances over his shoulder at the elevator. He stares at it thoughtfully for a moment, gears turning, before he turns back to you with his head tilted sideways.

“If I can bother you for a little while longer, I think I have a way to pass the time.”

In the far corner of the conference room sits a bar cart, weighted down with more bottles and glasses than is even remotely necessary for a place of business. Artfully curated for trial and settlement victories, it boasts at least six different kinds of liquor. Each one is more expensive than the last.

“You sure this is a good idea?” You ask, gesturing to the bottle of gin in Junhui’s hand.

He can’t make heads or tails of your hesitation. You strike him as the type to apologize later, rather than seek permission first. Even if his assessment of you is wrong, he knows without a doubt that neither Zavier nor Jaein would ever draw a sword on their most objectively successful associate.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” He asks, tone laden with amusement. “You’re the reason we have this cart in the first place.”

You shoot him a warning look that lacks heat. He hopes you don’t intend to rebut him; there’s no need to be humble, especially when what he said is true. Without you, there’d be a hell of a lot less to celebrate around here.

Come to think of it, the only thing more impressive than your trial record is the long list of happy client reviews that come up in internet searches.

Not that Junhui has Googled you.

Okay, not that he’s Googled you more than twice.

He twists the cap off the bottle and pours matching amounts in two glasses, keeping his eyes focused on his ministrations instead of on you.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of getting in trouble. What would Tom Santi think?”

Two seconds after he adds a splash of tonic, your hand appears from his peripheral vision and grabs the nearest glass from its spot on the edge of the cart. When Junhui’s eyes travel down the length of your arm and up to your face, he spots the innocent, bewildered way you’re blinking back at him.

Cotton-candy sweet, you lilt, “I’m just worried that you can’t keep up.”

You tilt your glass — a silent cheers — before taking a sip, a devilish smile appearing as soon as the cup leaves your lips.

His stomach flips excitedly even though he’s aware that it shouldn’t. There’s a fence of red tape building a perimeter around you, and it’s dotted with hundreds of warning signs: off-limits, trespassers will be prosecuted, etc.

He needs to get a grip — quickly. Entertaining the idea of you finding him attractive, too, is idiotic in more ways than one, and he knows it. Not only are you astronomically out of his league, but you’re also his colleague.

Assuming for the sake of argument that you did stoop to his level, you’d eventually come to your senses and realize that he’s nowhere near your caliber. When that inevitably happens, Junhui will still have to work down the hall from you. He doesn’t have the confidence to bounce back from something like that, not since his ex put his self-image in a blender half a year ago.

“Did you fall asleep with your eyes open again, bunny?”

He blinks rapidly, and you come back into focus. You’ve moved from his side since he zoned out. Now, you sit on the edge of the conference room table with your legs knotted, not unlike the way he found you on the floor several hours ago. Though you tease, there’s a distinct hint of concern in your narrowed eyes while you assess him.

Junhui’s instinct isn’t like a prey animal’s at all, but he knows better than to act on it, so he finishes pouring his own drink and recaps the bottle. Rather than put it down, he keeps it in his hand, grabs his drink with the other, and heads off for the door.

“Come with me,” he tells you.

You follow without question, footfalls sounding off quietly behind him as he leads you through the dark back to his office. Before you can get the wrong impression — or the right one, if the circumstances themselves weren’t wrong — he flicks on the lamp near the door and ushers you inside.

You’ve never been in his workspace, just like he’s never been in yours. Your office, he imagines, is as immaculately organized as you seem to be. That said, he wouldn’t be surprised if you had opposing counsels’ severed heads mounted on the wall.

His office, however, has a wildly different vibe. It seems to surprise you, so much so that you freeze halfway inside with wide eyes and a partially open mouth.

“You have kids?”

Apparently, it’s Junhui’s turn to be surprised. He glances over to where you’re pointing and laughs.

On the wall directly behind his desk is a full collage of drawings and handwritten notes, most of which were done by kids under the age of ten. Though their backgrounds, ages, and abilities vary significantly, they all have one thing in common: they all got really attached to their court-appointed Guardian ad Litem, Wen Junhui.

He shakes his head, although you don’t see him do it. You have your back to him, too focused on reading the various letters to react when he finally speaks.

“In a way, they’re kind of mine, just not… literally.”

You maintain your respectful silence, as if you’re wandering through a museum exhibit. He watches while you lift a hand and let your fingertips run gently overtop an especially artful tribute from a six-year-old named Iseul.

“Big fan of glitter and googly eyes, that one,” he muses, chuckling softly. “You have no idea how long it took me to clean up the visitation room at the community center when our meeting was over.”

You point to three stick figures, who hold hands in front of a large, grey building. Above them, a gigantic sun fills the corner of the page. It wears black sunglasses, the irony of which seemingly didn’t occur to Iseul.

“Who are they?” You ask.

Junhui points to each person as he explains:

“The — uh — wonky-looking one with what seems like a bloody neck is me in a red tie. In the middle is the artist herself, Iseul. She took some liberties; in reality, she has all ten fingers and isn’t known to wear a crown. To her right, that’s her foster mom, who she calls ‘grandma’, even though she’s only 45.”

“Is she still with grandma?”

“Yeah, actually.” He grins, unable to help it. “That stately, grey blob behind us is the probate court. We finalized her adoption last month.”

“Cute. I wish my clients would send me celebratory masterpieces,” you hum.

Junhui snorts. “Are you sure you want that?”

He can’t even imagine what kind of shit newly-divorced adults would send you. Nothing cute, he’s sure.

“No, actually. I take that back.” You shake your head and laugh. “I just want them to pay their legal fees on time.”

“You’re really asking for the world, aren’t you?”

You take another sip of your drink, then shrug, smiling impishly. “A nightmare bitch from hell’s gotta do what a nightmare bitch from hell’s gotta do.”

Before he can start ranting about Tom fucking Santi and his shitty opinions, you change focus again and begin to drift towards the bookshelf on the opposite wall. The top half of it is lined with statutory volumes, while the lower half has books and activities for the kids who occasionally come with their parents and caregivers to meet with him here.

You grab a deck of cards off one of the shelves and turn back to him with a vaguely menacing look.

“You brought me in here so I could beat you, didn’t you?”

“I brought you in here so I could beat you,” he rebuts.

In the time it takes Junhui to cross over to you, you drop your work bag to the floor, move the two child-sized chairs out of the way, and sit directly on the floor without a second thought. He sits on the other side of the small table and reaches for the deck only for you to shake your head vehemently at him.

“Nope,” you state emphatically, popping the second consonant. “I don’t trust you to shuffle these. You have clearly stated ulterior motives.”

He opens his mouth to argue otherwise but is shut down.

“Despicable,” you tut.

Once again, he tries to defend himself. “Excuse me? Your intentions aren’t any better —”

But you block him, grinning wickedly.

“— I’m a guest here and will not have my ambition questioned, thank you! Now, would you prefer to be destroyed by luck or skill?”

He has the feeling you’re going to destroy him in any and every way, so he says, “Dealer’s choice”, and takes a pointed swig of gin.

You think on this while you shuffle, making a big show out of it with your eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip pinched between your teeth. Then your eyes light up to broadcast that an idea has come to you.

Dutifully, you split the deck between you, doling out one card at a time to ensure the numbers even out. You slide your half over to you, face down, and gesture with feigned impatience for Junhui to do the same.

When he obeys, you look him dead in the eye. “I declare War.”

Four games and three drinks later, all your laughter finally catches up with you. With your abdominal muscles aching and eyes swimming, you tip over backwards and land on your back with a muffled thump.

“Okay, that’s bad, but I still think I can top it,” Junhui states with a shake of his head.

Your head lolls to the side so you can squint up at him properly. Once you catch his eye, you petulantly insist, “No way.”

There’s a flash in his eyes that says challenge accepted.

You like it.

In fact, you like this side of him: the version that isn’t intimidated by you, that isn’t afraid to be bold. Neither of you is drunk by any means, but your respective masks are off now, and you have gin to thank for introducing you properly.

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this out loud, on purpose,” he starts, then takes a deep breath. “This is perhaps the stupidest way anyone’s relationship has ever ended.”

He sits cross-legged next to you on the floor, perfectly within range. Without sitting up, you swat his knee. “Stop stalling! I don’t have all night.”

You do, but that’s neither here nor there.

“So, the last girl I dated had this… kink, I guess? Where she wanted to tell me she loved me during sex. We’d only been seeing each other for a few weeks at that point, but I figured, why not? What’s the harm?”

Your eyes widen. “Famous last words.”

“See?” He snaps his finger and points at you, grateful to be understood. “That’s the thing. She dumped me not long after that because things were —” The reveal comes with air quotes. “— moving too fast.”

You set your glass down somewhere above your head. Even though it’s empty of liquor, melted ice spills onto the carpet. You ignore the mess you’ve made and throw out both fists, thumbs down. “Boo!”

“Thank god I didn’t like her much,” he sighs.

“You dog.”

Junhui levels you with a playful glare, so you withhold further jokes and simply ask, “What was wrong with her, other than the attachment issues?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. In fact, he takes his time in finishing the last few sips of his drink, then he sets the empty glass down on the table. Unburdened, he lowers himself onto his back next to you with one bent arm underneath his head. From there, he concentrates on the ceiling above.

“It wasn’t her so much as us.”

“Oh?”

Junhui heaves a sigh. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like there needs to be some sort of announcement during law school about how fucking hard it is to practice law and date.”

He’s not wrong.

Your career has impacted every single one of your relationships, no matter how hard you try to keep them separate. You’ve never figured out how to manage it — to split yourself successfully between two spheres, both of which demand one-hundred percent of you.

None of your other attorney friends have ever brought this up, though, leaving you to feel like the broken one.

Still staring thoughtfully at the ceiling, he fills the silence you’ve left. “I don’t think most people get it, you know? Not that they should have to — nobody should accept something they’re not comfortable with — It’s just hard to make things work with someone who doesn’t understand what this is like. What it costs.”

You’re well acquainted with that massive fucking toll.

The struggle to find community in an inherently adversarial system, the second-hand trauma that comes with managing the worst moments of people’s lives, the burnout, and all the shitty coping mechanisms these things lead to if you’re not careful.

You don’t need to speak on any of this now, though. For the first time in an abysmally long time, you’re sitting with someone who doesn’t need an explanation.

Junhui, however, seems to interpret your silence as discomfort. You don’t blame him. He still hasn’t noticed the heart-eyes you’ve been staring at him with since he started talking, so he has no idea

“Ah, nuts. I’ve made things too serious.” He screws his eyes shut then yells, “Aaaah!”

You crack up, fully and immediately, which only prompts him to do the same. Never has there ever been a loser so endearing.

Turning his head now to look at you, he urges with a grin, “Quick, say something stupid!”

And goddamn, if the first thing that comes to mind isn’t exactly that…

“Kiss me.”

Junhui doesn’t react, save for the grin slowly disappearing off his face. He doesn’t even speak. For a moment, all he does is stare right back at you, straight through the full-body cringe you’re experiencing.

Fuck.

Maybe now’s the time to use that emergency exit, fire alarms and sprinklers be damned.

You open your mouth, armed and ready to explode into awkward apologies; and you suck in the breath needed to do so, but not a fucking word comes out.

His gaze shifts from your eyes, to your lips, then back again. The expression he wears all the while looks something akin to tortured — but you’re clearly batshit insane, so your judgment is questionable at best.

A beat passes again in silence. You’re ready to crawl out of your skin, an urge that only grows when he finally murmurs, “It’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”

Terrible.

Perhaps the worst you’ve ever had, second only to you blurting it out just now.

You have nothing better to say now, but that’s not what keeps your big mouth shut. It’s the fact that his question doesn’t seem to be directed at you at all.

Something about that tone of his comes across as rhetorical, like he’s got to work this shit out separately from you.

But he doesn’t stay separate. The hand not being used to prop up his head reaches out and gently encapsulates your chin between his thumb and index finger. His thoughtful eyes narrow, searching yours.

“Why doesn’t that make me want to any less?”

All at once, your heart skips; your breath hitches. You don’t have an answer to his question, just an inkling that you have as much to gain as you stand to lose. That cost-benefit analysis, coupled with the insatiable need you have to be kissed before you fucking expire, make you reckless.

Leaping past the point of no return, you grab him by the tie and pull him along for the ride.

Any timidness he showed you earlier is forgotten in an instant, replaced entirely by an assertiveness you didn’t know to expect from him. He gets you on your back without resistance, then settles himself above you with his weight balanced on a single hand beside your head and his knees on either side of your thighs.

His other hand slips to the nape of your neck, deepening the kiss and keeping you where he wants you: well beyond the professional boundaries you’ve both crossed to get here.

You could be embarrassed by how quickly you melt, seep, spill, but your better judgment is discarded alongside your sweatshirt without a second thought. Junhui’s jacket, button-up, and tie are tossed into that same void, not long after.

Absolutely fucking none of them are missed.

Lost under the warmth of his bare skin on yours, your brain is far too occupied to worry about which articles of clothing ended up where. All you're capable of caring about is his mouth on your throat; his hand between your thighs, slick fingers dragging you slowly out of your mind.

The orgasm his hand steals from you leaves you half-dead, but that doesn’t stop you from clinging tightly to him, begging for more, please, everything.

And that’s precisely what you get, though you shouldn’t be surprised. If this day has taught you anything, it’s that Junhui is synonymous with acts of service.

“Kiss me,” he commands breathlessly with his tip waiting at your entrance.

You do, eagerly, unaware at first that this is an act of service, too — a distraction, more specifically, to take your mind off of the stretch he brings. Nails pressed into his back, you whimper against his lips and let that pressure melt into something perfect.

“I can’t tell if you’re sleeping or not,” you whisper.

His eyelids may feel like lead, and you look like a dream, but Junhui is wide awake, laying half-dressed at your side.

Of course, you knew this when you asked. You keep opening your eyes to look at him secretly only to find him watching you, amusement growing each time he catches you.

Even though his voice is rough from exhaustion, he musters the strength to tease you, “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“My co-worker dicked me down to hell and back, and I’m recovering, obviously.”

You roll your eyes but can’t keep up your nonchalance for long. You bury it, along with your face, into his shoulder. When you finally tell the whole truth, it comes out rushed, as well as muffled.

“I spent most of the day wishing it was over. It was nightmarish, right from the jump. All I have to do is fall asleep, and it will be over…” Your shoulders sag under the weight of your sigh, which is delivered warmly against his skin. “But I don’t want that anymore.”

Junhui hums in acknowledgement. He pauses for a moment to consider what to say next, then decides to take a page out of your book. He’s an attorney, after all; he doesn’t ask questions he doesn’t already know the answers to.

“What changed?”

A lot.

“My co-worker dicked me down to hell and back, and I’m recovering,” you repeat.

Your laugh makes his body move, too. Just the same, the smile he feels forming against his bicep mimics the one on his own mouth. “You know, you keep saying that, but it doesn’t seem accurate.”

This prompts you to pull away from him, prop yourself up on your elbow, and stare at him incredulously. “Excuse me? Need I remind you how many times you just made me cum?”

He makes a big show of counting on his fingers until you swat at him. Then, he gets back to the point:

“What I meant was, is it co-worker or Valentine?”

You blink, no doubt stunned that someone was finally able to catch you off guard. Junhui doubts that this happens often. If that’s the case, he’ll keep this image of you, surprised into silence, in his back pocket for later.

“I’ll concede that those things aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive,” you eventually demur with a haughty shake of your head.

Junhui grabs your hand, pulls it to his mouth, and kisses the back of it. “Your concession is noted for the record.”

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soulofapatrick · 6 months ago

Text

Breathing for the First Time - Rhysand x female reader

Summary: Rhysand finally admits your mating bond after a heated argument with Nesta

Warnings: None really

Words: 2.4K

Y/N's POV

“I don’t care what you think, Nesta!” I snarl, the words tearing from me with a venom that shocks even myself. My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms as the fury courses through me, a wildfire spreading through my veins.

Nesta stands across from me, her eyes blazing with cold fury, her chin lifted in that arrogant way she always does when she wants to get under my skin. And gods, it’s working.

“Of course, you don’t,” she bites back, her voice sharp, cutting. “Because you never think, do you? You act first and deal with the consequences later. It’s reckless. You’re reckless.”

I can feel the pressure building inside me, a low thrum in the air as my power ripples beneath my skin, begging to be released. The very walls of the House of Wind seem to vibrate with it, feeding off the energy that crackles between us. My heart is pounding in my chest, the blood roaring in my ears as every word she says fans the flames of my anger.

“Reckless?” I spit, taking a step toward her, my magic swirling around me now, the air thickening with it. “You think I’m reckless? You, of all people, who shuts out everyone who tries to get close to you? Who pushes and pushes until no one’s left? Maybe it’s not me who needs to rethink their choices.”

Nesta’s jaw tightens, and I can see the flicker of hurt behind her steel-like gaze, but she doesn’t back down. Of course, she doesn’t. She never does. “At least I think before I act. You’re a storm waiting to happen, and it’s only a matter of time before you destroy everything around you.”

The words hit harder than they should, slamming into my chest, but instead of backing down, the fury builds, rising like a tidal wave ready to crash. The floor beneath my feet seems to hum, the sheer force of my rage making the very air around us pulse.

“How dare you,” I snarl, my voice low, dangerous now. “You don’t know a damn thing about me, Nesta.”

“Oh, I know enough.” Her voice is sharp, like a blade cutting through the thick air between us. She steps closer, her face mere inches from mine now, her eyes daring me to do something. “I know that you’re not just a storm. You’re a disaster waiting to happen.”

My chest heaves with the effort to keep control, but I’m losing it—fast. My power flares around me, crackling with dark, untamed energy, and the room seems to pulse with it. The windows tremble, the floor beneath us groans as if it, too, is trying to hold together the volatile storm inside me. I can feel the magic bubbling just under the surface, wanting to tear free, to unleash the tempest that’s been building inside me for so long.

Before I can say anything else, the door opens, and a familiar presence fills the room. Rhysand.

His gaze sweeps over the scene before him, and for a moment, I swear I see amusement flash in his eyes as he takes in the tension radiating from me like a tangible force. His lips twitch, but he says nothing, simply leans against the doorframe, his violet eyes now solely focused on me.

“Perfect timing,” Nesta mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she steps back, her eyes flicking between Rhysand and me. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”

But Rhys doesn’t seem interested in talking sense into anyone. His gaze never leaves mine, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at me now—something that makes the fire inside me burn hotter, but not with anger. There’s a dangerous kind of amusement in his eyes, like he finds my rage... enthralling. Like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.

Nesta huffs, clearly sensing that she’s lost whatever upper hand she thought she had. With a sharp, frustrated sigh, she turns on her heel and storms out, leaving me standing there, breathing hard, chest heaving with the effort to contain the swirling storm inside me.

But I don’t feel calm. Not even close.

Rhysand pushes away from the doorframe, his footsteps slow, measured, as he approaches me. His gaze is still locked on mine, his expression unreadable, but I can feel it—the shift in the air between us. The low hum of energy that vibrates in the space around us, electric and charged.

He stops just inches from me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body, smell the intoxicating scent of night-blooming jasmine that clings to him. He doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head slightly, those violet eyes roaming over my face like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

“What?” I snap, though my voice falters slightly, my anger waning under the weight of his gaze. The fire inside me still burns, but it’s shifting now, turning into something else entirely. Something I’m not sure I’m ready for.

Rhysand’s lips curl into the faintest of smiles, but there’s no mockery in it. If anything, it’s... gentle. “You’re fascinating when you’re angry,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a purr.

I blink, taken aback by his words, but before I can respond, his hands come up to cup my face, his touch feather-light, yet it sends a jolt of electricity through my entire body. My breath hitches, my heart racing, and suddenly, everything around us seems to fade—the room, the argument, the entire world. All that exists is him.

And in that moment, something inside me snaps.

Rhysand’s fingers brush over my lips, light as a feather, and the world seems to still around us. The air is thick with tension, crackling with a different kind of energy now, no longer fuelled by the anger I had moments ago. It’s something new, something electric, thrumming between us like a tether I can’t escape. His thumb traces my lower lip, slow and deliberate, and my breath hitches as my gaze locks on his—those violet eyes, deep and endless, like the night sky.

Everything inside me shifts. The rage that had once pulsed through my veins now melts away, leaving only this. Only him.

Rhysand's eyes darken with something deeper, something raw and unspoken, and then, just as his thumb slides over my lips again, I feel it—a shift in my mind, in the very fabric of my being. His mental walls, the iron fortress he’s always kept up, fall. He lets me in. And it’s not gentle.

His thoughts, his emotions, his very essence floods into me all at once, and I stagger under the weight of it. His love, fierce and unwavering, surges through me like a wave crashing against the shore. I can feel it all—his longing, his desire, the way he’s been holding back for so long. The way he's seen me, wanted me, needed me, for longer than I could have ever imagined.

And then I see it.

I see myself through his eyes.

To him, I am not just a woman, not just someone standing before him with fire and rage in my veins. To Rhysand, I am everything. I see myself, bathed in starlight, fierce and beautiful, with power thrumming just beneath my skin. I see the way he watches me, not just now, but in every stolen glance, in every moment we’ve shared without me even realising it.

I am not just a person in his world. I am his world.

“You have no idea,” his voice whispers through the bond, soft and reverent, and his fingers trace along the curve of my jaw. How long I’ve waited for you.

It’s like I’ve hung the stars above Velaris, like every moment he’s spent in the dark has led him to this—to me. And I feel it now, the snap, the bond, settling into place. Not just in my mind, but in my very soul. The realisation of what we are to each other crashes into me with such clarity, it leaves me breathless. Mate.

His hands slide down, slow and sure, mapping every inch of me. As if this is the only time he’ll get to memorize every curve of my body, every dip and slope. His touch is gentle, reverent, yet filled with something that feels like desperation, like he can’t let go, like he’s afraid this moment will slip away if he moves too fast.

Through the bond, I feel it all—his awe, his desire, his absolute certainty. And underneath it, something more—something sacred, as if I am the one thing in this world he cannot live without. His hands rest on my hips now, firm but tender, pulling me closer, and I feel the heat of his body, the pull of him, like gravity itself has shifted around us. I can feel his love, strong and unyielding, wrapping around me like a cocoon, like I’m something precious—something he’s waited lifetimes for.

He looks at me again, his violet eyes burning into mine, and I swear, in that moment, I see galaxies. His thumbs trace slow, lazy circles on my skin, and it’s as if he’s trying to etch this moment into his memory forever. As if every breath I take, every movement, every tremble, is something sacred to him.

“I could spend eternity,” he whispers, his voice a low murmur, soft and reverent, “and it still wouldn’t be enough to know you.”

His forehead rests against mine, and for a moment, we just stand there, breathing each other in. I can feel the bond between us now, pulsing bright and fierce, a thread of power connecting us, binding us. There’s no going back. This is it—this is everything.

Rhysand's lips hover just above mine, the space between us charged with the weight of everything unsaid. The bond hums in the air like a current, and when he finally closes the distance, it’s like the world shifts—everything in me snaps awake. His lips claim mine, firm yet tender, and it feels like a shock to my system, like I’m breathing for the first time. A slow, burning fire unfurls in my chest, spreading through every inch of me, and I can’t help the way I press closer, needing more, needing all of him.

The kiss deepens, and my head spins, my heart racing with the force of everything pouring through me. His lips are soft, but there’s an intensity to the way he kisses me—a hunger, a desperation, like he’s been waiting for this moment as long as I have. His hands cup my face, his fingers threading through my hair, holding me as though I’m something precious, fragile, yet powerful all at once.

And gods, I feel it.

The world narrows down to the feel of his mouth on mine, the way his lips move with mine, slow but purposeful, like he’s savouring every second, every taste. My heart thunders in my chest, and I gasp into his kiss, my breath mixing with his. It feels like my body is burning from the inside out, a fire I’ve never known before, and my shields—the ones I’ve always kept so tightly wrapped around my mind—begin to crumble.

For him, I let them fall.

I lower them, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but him. His presence floods me, his emotions wrapping around my own in a way that leaves me breathless. It’s overwhelming—the intensity of his desire, the way he’s craved this, craved me, for so long. I can feel the depth of his love, his awe, the way he’s trying to pour every bit of himself into this kiss, into me.

And I give him the same.

The kiss is everything and more. It’s a claiming, a promise, a silent admission of all the things we’ve held back. Every touch of his lips against mine sends sparks racing through my veins, igniting parts of me I didn’t even know were there. His hands slide down, skimming the sides of my face, trailing over my neck, down my shoulders, until they settle on my hips, pulling me closer. The heat of his body seeps into mine, and I shudder at the way his fingers press into me, holding me like he’s afraid I might slip away.

But I won’t. I can’t. Not when everything in me screams for him.

His mouth moves against mine with more urgency now, more need, and my heart pounds in response. I feel weightless, like I could fly, like the bond between us is lifting me higher than I’ve ever been. Every part of him feels like it’s consuming me, and it’s not terrifying—it’s exhilarating. I melt into the kiss, my hands sliding up to grip the back of his neck, tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

This kiss, this moment, it feels like the world has finally clicked into place. Like I was always meant to be here, with him, like we’ve been moving toward this our entire lives. My body hums with energy, the bond between us thrumming with power, and I feel alive in a way I never have before.

Rhys kisses me like I’m the centre of his universe, like I’ve hung the stars in the sky, and the way he touches me… gods, the way he touches me makes me feel like I’m everything. His fingers trace the curve of my jaw, gentle but deliberate, and it’s like he’s trying to memorize every part of me, every curve, every breath. His touch is reverent, yet laced with longing, and it’s as though he’s holding me like I’m the one thing he can’t bear to lose.

And as the kiss deepens, as his lips move with mine in a perfect, intoxicating rhythm, I feel something click inside me—a realisation, a truth I can no longer deny.

This is more than just desire. It’s more than just a kiss.

It’s the bond. It’s us.

And for the first time in my life, I know exactly where I belong.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

Tags:

@lilah-asteria

#rhysand #rhysand shadowsinger #rhysand acotar #acotar fandom #rhysand fanfic #rhysand spymaster #rhysand x reader #rhysand x you #rhysand x y/n #rhysand smut #rhysand fluff #rhysand angst #bat boys #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #a court of mist and fury #a court of silver flames #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight

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adhd-fandom-hyperfocus · 6 months ago

Text

✧₊⁺ This Was Not In The Codex ✧₊⁺

Pairing: demetrian titus x reader(f)

Summary: Titus is on a much-needed leave on Macragge. While there he runs into you, or rather you run into him escaping terrible punishment for being unable to tell a lord no.

Part 2/?

Arthur's Note: I am terrible at keeping POV when writing in the third person and try to do omniscient, but again I am no real writer.

Warnings: Pregnancy (reader is pregnant), mentions of SA, and general gimdarkness.

18+ Minors DNI

★。------ ＼｜／------。★

Your mind fought with itself to stir from the imposed sleep it had put you under. The snaring embrace of the blankets you were so carefully tucked into, and the feeling of the fresh clean robe against your skin; it was heavenly. You could float away, or sink further into the mattress. Your body was weak, and in truth you were unsure if you could move from your spot on your own now. Throne, you were not even sure what had allowed you to push on as long as you had at this point.

The scent of fresh cooked food tantalized your nose, and your mouth watered to the point of drooling. Oh, how lovely it would be to taste what your nose offered. The soft moan from your mind fantasizing over the food you smelt confirmed your return to the waking world.

“Oh good you are awake. I heard you stir, but I was unsure if you would go back to sleep.”

That low timber voice, just enough roughness around the edges, yet so full and deep. You knew this voice; it was the angel.

That's right you were taken, no saved, by one of the Emperor's angels. The events of what got you to this point float back to the forefront of your mind, but there was much you had no recollection of, and that sent a chill down your spine. You were in new clothes, on a bed...your tired mind sprung into panic, what happened to you while you were too weak to even be awake? A wave of nausea hit you with panic that the angel was not as much your savior as you wanted them to be.

The sudden spike in your heartbeat and the rapid movement of your eyes did not go unnoticed by Titus, he frowned and raised his massive hands up so you could see them, “You are okay My Lady. I summoned chapter serfs, only female, to clean you and change you. I promise your body was respected. One of them had a robe from when they carried a child, and you wear it now. They washed you down with a cloth before you were seen by a medicae. I did sit in and observe your inspection. Allowed me to ask questions. The care for a woman with child is not taught within the Codex Astartes. It seemed the attending apothecary was also interested.”

A mix of a sense of duty now for his charge and genuine curiosity as it occurred to him he knew nothing of procreation, well he knew the basics, the very basics. And understood he would never yearn for it; at least that is what he's been told and believed. But everything else? Information not important to his existence and purpose, until now. And the things he read and saw made him appreciate baseline women all the more. Even with all their augments Titus did not think an Astartes could handle labor much better.

Though you started to relax a little, forcing yourself to believe him, after all even if it were a lie, what could you do? He could crush you like an ant under heel.

“I got you and the babe some food. I hope it is to your and their liking. Since I know nothing of these things, I asked some of our chapter serfs who were mothers. I did not realize carrying a child could cause such...creative desires of food,” Titus smiled warmly at you. He seemed genuinely happy with his dudillgince and the feast he brought for you. It was strange to see someone, mostly a revered angel, so happy to be helping something as lowly as you. It made you feel terrible; perhaps you were corrupted by the ruinous powers?

“And I made sure there is plenty to put more meat on you and the little one.” he continued. This was much different than the normal tasks he would be dealing with, and this learning, even of something so niche and useless to one such of himself, was better than feeling bored. Plus, he was helping. Titus hoped those above him and his primarch saw this favorably. Though Calgar was planet side and was so far sympathetic towards the situation, even upset to have to admit even Macragge wasn't free of such gross baseline nobles. It was always a harrrowing realization that, there will always be those who abuse any and all power they have.

You look over that the massive plate? No it looked more like a serving platter that had smaller plates upon it, piled high with food. Fruits, vegetables and so much cooked meats and breads. Your stomach growled angerly, demanding you eat what was there. The noise as not just so loud it spooked you, but also hurt.

Overly aware now how starved you were. Your lower lip quivered as you tried to shrink into the bed in embarrassment, and fear. This angel of The Emperor was gracing you with his presence and blessing you with his attention and you're over where making gross indignant sounds like some animal.

It was terrifying how quick Titus could close the gap, with speed you almost couldn't comprehend he was kneeling down on the side of the bed, trying to make himself seem smaller, and offering the most gentle expression. Though it didn't seem natural, practiced, but not forced.

“Please do not fret My Lady, you are not in any trouble. Your body is letting me know I am rambling too much, and you the little one need to eat!” he smiled, resting his large hands on the bed, waiting for you to reach out and touch them, but you couldn't.

He was divine and you were dirty. But those eyes, deep green eyes so soft and pleading while his face looked as if carved from stone. His eyes expressed what his facial could not. Still unable to touch him, you at least made a relented move towards them with a hand of your own.

“You can eat in bed, does that sound nice? Can you sit up on your own, or would you like my aid?” he asked so gently, again, betraying his mighty size.

With your best effort you tried to sit up but your body just couldn't support itself like that. With the fear of survival somewhat muted now, your body was done forcing itself to preform mighty feats like standing. But before you could ask, Titus with such gentleness supported you and guided you up and back so you might use a headboard for support.

Happy that you were nice and steady and stood to go grab the food, but your lip was still trembling. An angel of The Emperor shouldn't be waiting on you! This was beneath him and you were foul for this.

“Please, My Lord, I can-”

“Titus, and please do not fret My Lady. I want to help,” he replied as if he read your mind. He placed a bedside tray before you that had a plate of food piled high upon it, “Now, eat up, I got you plenty so worry not. I will get you more when you finish.”

When you finish? More? How much did he expect you to eat? All of it? You couldn't fathom more than a few bites! Still, you nodded and offered a weak smile. God Emperor you didn't want to displease him.

You tried to pick at the food, tear pieces of bread, or take spoonfuls of food, but you had no real strength, your grip was frail and you kept dropping things. Which caused you to shake and whimper that your failure to do as you were told would be met with anger. It always was. But instead the angel just cooed it was okay, as he started to feed you.

It was not something you noticed but Titus was keep focused attention on making sure he did not feed you too quickly, starting small, if not a bit awkward conversation. Watching you chew and swallow, counting as you two talked. He did not want to overwhelm you, and he was warned if you ate too quickly your body would expel it. And the food was made of dreams to you.

The babe in your belly and your stomach so pleased. Titus kept the conversation light, asking little simple questions like your name, and if you had a favorite color; joking about how Astartes know so little about baseline human health, so you would have to help him learn. He kept you happily distracted as gingerly gave you another bite and another. The way he so sweetly held food up for you and slipped into your mouth so you didn't have to risk any of the energy you had. Doing so with such care as to not spook you.

It was hard to not just let your guard down. Your body didn't have enough strength to fight. Like a prey animal that accepts it fate. That was how your lord always put it. Everything would be better if you just stopped fighting, and at a young age you did. But this? It did not even feel like a dream or fantasy, not like any your simple mind could fathom.

The way his eyes lit up when the moans of sheer pleasure and joy slipped out of you. Seemingly remembering which gave a stronger response and getting you more of that. He was so proud his choice of food was appealing to you.

“See, nothing to worry about. I will have you and the little one up to proper weight in no time. I will be monitoring your recovery and the babe's development.” he said with such a kind smile eyes drifting to your bump, but mindful to not touch it.

In fact all his touches were soft and minimal, but in ways to show he only wished for your comfort. As your chewing slowed, Titus became aware you were full, but perhaps unsure to tell him. And you were. You were worried he would be upset you had not eaten all he brought, and you were enjoying having an angel treat you like someone important.

“Are you full Little Mother? It is okay if you are. I was told not to force more than you are comfortable with.” he assured you

You nod meekly and removed the tray, pleased he got you to each as much as you did, a plate and a half. Not as much as he like, but then again he was warned baseline humans while they did was more often than Astartes their caloric intake was much less. But you had the baby...he sighed to himself, truly human women were complicated beings. Perhaps that was why they could not be Astartes. Their bodies were not simple and easily changed.

You yawned and Titus was easing you back down into bed. The medicae mentioned it might be like this for a while; eating and sleeping as your body regained some form of strength again.

“Thank you my-Titus,” you say quietly, drained from eating but also so content. You could not remember a time where you ever felt full.

“No thanks needed. I have things I must attend, but I promise to return. I will be nearby or another should you need anything. Just call. Our hearing is sensitive so you do not need to worry about being loud for us to hear.” he explained as he tucked you in and fluffed your pillow.

Feeling bold he ghosted one of his giant hands over your small bump. Too enthralled with the idea life was growing inside there to notice your smile. Truly, this was something to marvel at. To house life and nurture it so it could grow. No Astartes or Primarch as far as he was aware could even fathom doing that,

“Beautiful.” he mutters so quietly you baseline ears did not pick it up.

Titus looked up at you and you were already sleeping again. He gave your bump a gentle pat before standing and tending to other matters. Like another meeting with Calgar about why he had a pregnant serf in his room now.

#warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 40k x reader #demetrian titus #titus x reader #warhammer fanfic #space marine x reader #finally it is here #still hate it but I realized I would never post it at this point if I just didn't do it

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itwasntimethatdidit40 · 4 months ago

Text

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?”

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes.

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band.

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress.

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it.

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted. He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand.

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!”

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night.

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming.

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets.

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!”

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.”

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes.

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.”

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires.

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you.

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.”

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous.

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious.

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room you had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.”

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night”

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent.

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.”

You had laughed “I find her lovely”

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake”

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said.

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?”

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.”

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep.

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say.

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark.

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him.

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up.

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration.

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore.

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault.

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom.

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming.

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation.

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always.

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that.

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks.

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!”

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother.

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John.

The last person you thought you would see was him.

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?”

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective.

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome.

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all.

He seemed genuinely glad to see you.

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement.

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you.

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy.

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?”

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.”

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.”

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand.

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you.

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly.

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!"

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me."

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that.

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts.

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things.

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare.

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem.

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth.

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?”

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really”

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly.

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want?

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately.

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries.

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started.

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him.

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you.

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain.

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you.

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants.

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days.

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go.

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything.

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom.

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus.

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband.

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in.

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you.

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words.

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly.

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day.

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world.

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you.

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt.

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close.

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was.

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.”

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well.

“Your mother and John?”

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?”

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” he had encircled your waist with an arm as he walked you to the car. He had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself.

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others.

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.”

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you"

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you.

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again.

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much.

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything.

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest.

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning.

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed.

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life.

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off.

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.”

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside.

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic.

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank.

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy.

You had looked up and been stunned.

Marcus.

How was that possible?

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand.

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked.

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary.

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation.

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly.

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.”

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you.

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...”

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off.

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair.

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?”

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.”

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.”

“That's not true, I-”

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-”

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.”

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.”

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.”

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart.

“No.” you had whispered, ��no fucking way.”

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you.

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you.

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.”

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.”

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right.

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.”

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel.

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work.

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do.

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office.

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office.

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away.

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices.

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling.

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind.

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague.

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?"

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone?

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.”

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-”

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart.

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach.

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself.

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles.

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person.

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was.

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there.

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there.

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed.

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life.

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet.

________________________________________________________

2011

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country. You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her.

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country.

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name.

Marcus. Again.

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender.

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all.

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender.

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?”

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?”

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini.

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.”

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else.

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.”

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies”

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind.

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes.

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together.

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting.

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas.

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?”

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.”

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie.

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.”

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes”

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck.

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

#pedrostories #pedrostoriesgift24 #marcus pike #Marcus Pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike fic #ppcu fics #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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wisteriagoesvroom · 4 months ago

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a couple of people have asked for a carlos POV of in theory and actually. thinking about it. it's pretty funny. imagine being carlos, carlos who gets everything in his life he's ever wanted carlos, carlos who feels he has nothing further to prove to anyone carlos (this is a lie btw), carlos who gets saddled with OSCAR, who barely tolerates him, as an executive assistant.

oscar who shows few emotions. doesn't give a f about seniority. thinks carlos is incredibly arrogant (he's not wrong here but, like recognises like.) oscar who knows carlos can't even do his own expenses without having an emotional support espresso or spending half an hour whining to oscar even though he did it himself years before oscar even joined, etc etc.

and carlos has to. endure it. while oscar blatantly ignores his charm offensive and his attempts at being jovial and his bad bilingual puns and carlos, because everyone usually loves carlos, and he-- he just. he cannot for the life of him figure out why he's also so compelled by this australian dude. doesn't know what to do with himself. just keeps interactions to a transactional minimum and puts up a front like he is soooo curt and uncaring about everything but. the warmth seeps through anyway, a vine that's destined to grow despite his attempts not to let it.

so what, if carlos lies awake in bed with racing thoughts too late at night thinking of revenues and EBITDA and platinum tiers and air miles. so what, if this sometimes bleeds into thoughts regarding his work-life balance or lack thereof, and therefore, oscar's stupid little hair swoop, his frown. his insane excel sheet formulas that even carlos, MBA graduate, takes a second to understand. oscar and his indifference and his scary efficiency and the way he talks a bit too fast when he's tipsy and his ice cold hands.

(at the christmas party with yuki. carlos pretends not to listen but hears every word. why would oscar tell yuki all that, and not him, when he’s tried to ask about oscar's interests before? anyway.)

and then. the christmas gifts happen and carlos thinks he's crossed a line. was the terrarium too far, he wonders. normally people love it when carlos is thoughtful like that. his exes even said so. but no! oscar takes the terrarium, the one carlos made a specific detour for on an airline that he couldn't even get miles on!

and oscar just. stares, and stares at the terrarium. then he gives carlos this...look. and it gets embarrassingly intimate and carlos "really does have to go take his call" even though the client did say it is fine to switch to email because, christmas. yeah. and then he's thinking about it the whole way back to madrid too.

then oscar QUITS on CHRISTMAS DAY (rude) for no explainable reason and carlos is like oh my god is it really ME. how can anybody not like ME ? reddit, AITA???

so carlos mulls on it. carlos wants to atone. just maybe. set things straight. let oscar know that. actually. all feelings aside, he was really an excellent EA and carlos wishes him the best with everything. he maybe sends a text to thank him with those very words. but christmas eve comes and goes, and so does christmas day, and there's no reply at all from oscar. what the hell, carlos thinks. no i can't have him leave and there's so much in my email that i – i didn't even say. he just. needs to let oscar know that he appreciated it.

(he doesn't know what "it" is per se. just that. he feels strongly. so he needs to do something about that.)

soooooo then carlos, who values for family more than anything in the world, spends christmas day just only half paying attention to things going on and thinking jesus, what did i do. and his sisters are like, hermano, please just. get it together and sort this out if you care so much. we'll be fine with mamá and papá and piñón okay there's roast ham for days. and his ma is like: "if you are visiting someone at least pack some dessert. where are your manners". and carlos is like "what". and his mum is like: "did i not teach you anything at all. are you or are you not a sainz". so carlos just takes his tiramisu and his sister's teasing and. he goes. might even try to pull a favour from a client to use a private jet and get there in time.

he flies back to the city in a fit of possible stupidity to try and clarify... his feelings for oscar his professional record and integrity.

and then. oscar is. actually HAPPY he is there.

(carlos knows he's happy, not because oscar's face changes. but because oscar puts his actual plant shears down in order to talk to him. which in oscar-world is a very big deal really. before, oscar always used to look like he wanted to stab carlos with a pen when carlos spoke to him. and if carlos were truly honest with himself, and hindsight being 50/50, well– he'd say that actually, the times oscar looked like he wanted to stab him were actually some of the moments he felt most alive.)

and the rest is... well.

you know how it ends.

#carcar #so. confession: i wasn't actually sure about carlos's POV for this fic at all. tho i knew he was an active participant obviously #and to be honest i went with oscar's POV for efficiency since i was working towards finishing it by the 31st #but this might just be the bones of it.#also i have not ever written carlos's POV before 👀 so this is a first!!#will i write this snippet out in full? idk? maybe not? but. here you go for now for like the 2 or 3 people who were interested #[in theory] fic #i typed this while procrastinating at work and somehow it's now... 900 words

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storydays · 1 year ago

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Hazbin Hotel: Episode 1 p1

Overture

@avatar_lover

(3rd POV)

"Once upon a time, there was a glowing city protected by golden gates known as Heaven. It was ruled by beings of pure light. Angels that worshiped good and shielded all from evil. Lucifer was one of these angels. He was a dreamer with fantastical ideas for all of creation. But he was seen as a troublemaker by the elders of Heaven.

For they felt his way of thinking was dangerous to the order of their world. So he watched as the angels began to expand the universe in their ways. From the dust of Earth, they created Adam and Lilith. Equals as the first of mankind, but despite this, Adam demanded control and Lilith refused.

Drawn in by her fierce independence, Lucifer found her and the two rebellious dreamers fell deeply in love. Together, they wished to share the magic of free will with humanity, offering the fruit of knowledge to Adam’s new bride, Eve, who gladly accepted.

But this gift came with a curse.

For with this single gift, evil finally found its way to Earth. With it, a new realm of darkness and sin, and the order Heaven worked hard to maintain was shattered. As punishment for their reckless act, Heaven cast Lucifer and his love into the dark pit he created, never allowing him to see the good that came from Humanity, only the cruel and the wicked.

Ashamed, Lucifer lost his will to dream.

But Lilith thrived, empowering a demon-kind with her voice and her songs. And as the numbers of Hell grew, so did its power. Threatened by this, Heaven made a truly heartless decision, that every year, they would send down an army: an extermination to ensure Hell and its sinners could never rise against them.

But Lilth’s hope remained. And her dream was passed down to their precious children, the Prince and Princess of Hell.”

A pale hand closed the story book, as a young woman held a key close to her, looking downcast. “Don’t worry Mom, I’ll make you proud.” She whispered, gazing out the window, listening to the screams outside.

“Charlie?” a voice called startling the young woman. “Augh!” she yelped, as her key turned into a cat, who ran away to hide. Charlie winced before turning to the other woman, “Vaggie! Did you hear all that?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah. I was standing right there.” smiled the woman, pointing at the door. “Sorry, I get pretty worked up after an extermination happens. The story helps.” Charlie frowned, staring at the book. “I know, don’t worry. I enjoy your theatrics. Are you okay?” Vaggie asked, sitting next to the blonde demoness. “I’m fine, just–ya know thinking about family stuff.” “DId you hear your from your mom yet?” Charlie shook her head sadly.

“Oof, how long has it been now?”

“Not that long…only…..seven….years. Off doing something important, I’m sure.” Together the women stood up, to look outside the window. “But this kingdom was something she really cared about; something I care about.” Charlie hugged herself, smiling wistfully.

“Well, at least you’re not alone.” Vaggie soothed, holding Charlie’s hands.”I just hope that what I’m trying to do here will work.” Charlie admitted. “It will. I have faith in you.” the white haired woman smiled, cupping Charlie’s cheek.

“All right, come on. Alastor says he’s got something he wants to show us.” Vaggie walked out of the room, Charlie going to follow her, before hearing the church bell ring outside. She turned to look out at the clock as it rang, signaling the end of the extermination. Charlie sighed before heading downstairs.

*Downstairs*

“Well, hello there, you wayward sinner!” A cheery voice, on the television, called out to a demon currently stabbing another on the street, making the two look around confusedly. “Do you like blood, violence and depravity of a sexual nature? Of course you do, that’s why you’re in Hell! But what would you say if there was a place that had none of that?” questioned the voice as more sinners popped up, varying emotions from annoyance to confusion. The camera then zoomed to reveal the hotel.

“Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel! A misguided path to redemption!” the camera then pushed into Charlie’s personal space as she was mid conversation, before she noticed the camera and she smiled and waved nervously. A spider demon appeared behind her, using all four of his hands to give the demoness bunny ears behind her head and on the side. “Founded 5 days ago by Lucifer’s delusional daughter, Charlotte Morningstar! Come place your faith in her inexperienced hands as she tries to work through her daddy issues by fixing you!”

The television showed a picture of Lucifer facing away from Charile as she hugged herself, tears in her eyes. Then it showed Charlie attempting to convince sinners to join.

“Here we offer fun things! Such as somewhat functional staff.” The camera showed a grumpy cat demon who was clearly drunk as he face planted into the bar. A little cyclops woman scurried around him, chasing a bug with a giant needle in her arm, with a maniacal grin on her face, as she attempted to stab the bug.

“24 hour pest control! Custom rooms, and just look at this tacky parlor!” The camera panned out to show a piece of wood falling near the spider demon from earlier who was lounging on a couch, clearly bored as he examined his finger nails. “Enjoy riveting conversation with our singular resident.”

The spider sent the camera a middle finger, making an effect of the word Wow appear on screen, changing to show a crudely drawing of the hotel with different notes and smiley faces with a large toothy grin. “Wow! All this and more at the Hazbin Hotel. Your last desperate attempt at salvation starts here!” On the screen, appeared: “Call now or don’t! I don’t care! We still don’t have a working phone!”

The TV shut off as the audience in the room sat around, emotions varying from anger, shock, and disbelief. “So, what’d ya think?”asked a grinning deer demon, dressed head to toe in red and black.

“I’m sorry, what the FUCK was that?” scowled Vaggie, arms crossed. “Uh, yeah, one note. Alastor…” Charlie started, ignoring how the demon’s smile tightened. “I mean, first off, thank you so much for making this, seriously, amazing, but um..” Charlie played with her fingers as she tried to explain her thoughts, “The tone was maybe a bit..off?” Alastor tilted his head as she continued.

“We want people to WANT to come here. This makes it look–um..” “Bad. The word you’re looking for is bad.” Vaggie snarled, crossing her arms.

“Funny, I was going for hilarious!” Alastor laughed. “It didn’t explain anything about how we’re trying to save demons, which is the whole fucking point!”

“Vaggie is right, Alastor. The commercial was to let sinners know we are trying to save them.” called a smooth voice from another armchair. The male was sitting on the chair, his legs over the arm of the chair, and the cat from earlier purring in his arms, as he stroked her back. This was the Prince of Hell, Heir to the Throne, and Charlie’s big brother, (Y/N).

“Well, my dear (Y/N), I haven’t been active in Hell for some time, and everyone remembers me from my radio show. The proper way to express oneself!” Alastor turned to the TV with a clear disdain written over his ever grinning face.

“But you insisted on this noisy picture box advertisement. So I had a little fun with it.” “Oh fun, you had a little fun?” Vaggie snapped, before standing. “Well, this is not what we want to represent us. When you showed up here, a week ago, you told us you would help run this hotel. Instead, you’re mocking us. Nobody’s going to want to come to a place that a powerful Overlord like you thinks is a waste of time.” Vaggie hissed before the 4 noticed a red hand waving in the air.

“What?” snapped Vaggie as (Y/N) started to walk towards the bar.

“If’n you’re filimin’ a commercial, can I suggest you take advantage of the talented celebrity you have right here?” The spider demon from earlier, sat up lazily, grabbing the bottle of alcohol with him, and winked at the people, gesturing to himself.

“Angel, you’re a porn star.” Vaggie deadpanned.

“A famous porn star.” Corrected Angel, as (Y/N) came back and sat next to the spider, with a strawberry Daiquiri in his hand.

“I’ll have the horniest sinners knockin’ down these walls to get in.” The white furred spider grinned smugly, before swinging his legs over (Y/N)’s lap, clearly comfortable. “We are not shooting a porn as a commerical.” Vaggie said firmly.

“Why not? Sex sells, don’t it?” Angel winked. “I swear, if you film me going at it with Sexy Princey or Mr FancyTalk Creep Voice here, you’d be rollin’ in participants to stay at this tacky hotel.”. Alastor laughed loudly before deadpanning. “Haha! Never going to happen.”

The bespectacled prince cleared his throat nervously, cheeks a slight red as he tried to compose himself. “A-Angel, we appreciate you wanting to use your ‘special skills’ to, um, attract folks to the hotel. But I–WE, meant to say WE don’t want to exploit you in that way.”

(Y/N) smiled at the spider demon who grinned, leaning into the prince’s space, close to his ear, and purred, “But what if I want you to exploit me……..Daddy?” “HAHA! OKAY!”

(Y/N) yelped, before using his wings to quickly fly up and over by the bar, startling Angel who then smirked knowingly at the demon.

Turning towards the girls, Angel continued to talk, “This body was made to be exploited, baby. I’ve got the arms, I got the stamina, I got the legs, I got the lung capacity. Oh, oh! I have the legs, the gag reflex, the holes, the chest fluff everyone thinks are tits..” Charlie laughed uncomfortably as Angel continued talking.

(Y/N)’s phone started ringing, making the prince roll his eyes and walk away, answering his phone. “I’ll be right back.”

He turned the corner, and grinned deviously as he answered the phone, “What up, bitch!”

*Back with the others*

“Hey, I have a question. If freaky face over there is so powerful, then why can’t he just make people stay here?” Angel asked suddenly, pointing at Alastor.

“Oh trust me, I can.” Alastor grinned darkly, briefly showing his horns.

“Why do you think I’m here?” A gruff voice called from the bar, making everyone turn to the bar, towards the grumpy cat from earlier.

“You think I’d be cleaning bottles and listen to you fucks’ bitch and moan, if he wasn’t forcing me.” The bartender hissed as the little cyclops appeared next to him, grinning.

“I like being forced.” She giggled.

“Keep that to yourself, Niff.” grimaced the cat demon.

“What, you don’t love being here with me, Whiskers?” Angel mocked, making a kissy face.

“Call me whiskers again, and I’ll jam that bottle down your throat.” the cat threatened.

“Kinky! C’mon, keep talking dirty.” grinned Angel, narrowing his eyes at the cat.

“Angel, let Husk do his job. And no, we can’t force people to stay here; they need to choose to.” Vaggie stated.

“I’m choosing to be here, and I think it’s all stupid. We’re in Hell, toots.” Angel shrugged, “That’s kind of the end of the line, ain’t it?”

“Well, maybe it doesn’t have to be.” Charlie smiled. “Just because no one’s ever made it out, doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”

Angel placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder as he leaned down to her height. “Hey, whatever means I can keep crashing here rent free.” The women shot him a deadpanned look, and he scowled. “Crack is expensive.”

(Y/N) quickly came and grabbed Charlie by the arm, grinning excitedly. “Char, come with me!” Charlie yelped as her brother pulled her around the corner.

“Woah, (Y/N), what’s going on?”

“So the leader of the Angel Army wants to meet…and I managed to convince Dad to let me send you to talk to them instead.”

Charlie tilted her head. “Why me? You usually take care of stuff like that.”

“Because, Char, you are the princess of Hell,and I think you’re old enough to start partaking in stuff like this. And.. you can use this as an opportunity to try to convince Heaven to give your Hotel a chance. “ (Y/N) prompted.

“Ooh! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Charlie hugged her brother before rushing to tell Vaggie. (Y/N) going to lean on the couch, as Vaggie questioned Charlie. “But the extermination just happened. What could they want this soon after?”

Charlie started singing and twirled Vaggie who replied dizzily, “Okay but just don’t sing to them.”

“That bitch is half way down the street.” (Y/N) and Angel laughed, with the others looking out the door, watching the princess sing.

“Is she–?” Vaggie asked, worriedly.

“Oh, she’s dancin’.” Angel tossed his head back, drinking the bottle in his hands, ignoring Vaggie’s groan.

youtube

#Spotify #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel x male reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #viziepop #hazbin angel dust #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin vaggie #hazbin niffty

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heavenbloom · 2 months ago

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🇵🇸 BEFORE YOU READ: DONATE • BOYCOTT TLOU

ꫂ ၴႅၴ — 𝒂 𝒏𝒆𝒘𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕!𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒆

a vague continuation of this, but you don’t have to read it to understand this one

song: vicino a te — stevio cipriani

summary: after your first, brief encounter, ellie sends you a letter — with this sweet, foreign feeling blossoming in her chest, she’s too nervous to say anything in person.

warnings: 18+ mdni, fluff, letter format, ellie’s pov, yearning, kinda love at first sight, mentions of (greek) mythology, religious imagery, probably ooc, flowery language, not proofread

a/n: i should be writing other, bigger projects but i love letter writing so much, they’re the purest form of love

Dear moonlit one,

How terribly confused you must be by this letter; I am sorry for it in advance.

Perhaps it might have been more appropriate to visit you, to speak more than a few pleasantries before scampering off into the night, but, as you may have noticed… well, I have no talent for speaking.

How ironic that seems coming from a poet! Words are my profession, perhaps even my religion. I suppose, however, I can only wield them with ink and not with my lips. I have always been this way; a penchant for the quill in preference to conversation.

That is why I write to you. I can be honest here, without my nerves getting the better of me.

I want to express my deepest apologies for my insolence on that revelrous eve. Rushing off without so much as a goodbye in spite of your good nature was unkind of me, and there is no justification for it. Even so, I must explain myself;

Excuse my cynicism and my continuous irony, but I have never believed in a fairytale love. I have an apt appreciation for the picturesque and I feel deeply about many-a-thing; these qualities have made me an adequate enough poet, for I can replicate the beauty of the world that surrounds me. I can structure stanza upon stanza inspired by a scent or a face. I am an observer, therefore I have endured.

But a love that strikes as abruptly as a serpent unsheathes its fangs? A love that robs the lungs of air and renders one’s body feather-light? All because of a glance, a smile, a laugh— of course I was skeptical. How could one not be?

But it was not until I saw you on that argent night, dreamy and gentle, that I could at least come to an understanding. You appeared like the goddess Selene, so very luminous that no words could form in my useless mouth. What was I to say, in that moment? What words spoken could have done justice to the divinity before me?

And your laugh, oh, that laugh… it was as if the sound of your voice was laced with the very harps of heaven. I have not been able to listen to another’s joy without missing the beauty of yours. How foolish I am.

Why do I ramble in such a way? What I mean to say is that your mere existence has awoken me to the pearl ensconced within the centre of our lives. A precious and delicate thing that hit me, unabated. That is why I left you in such a hurry. I was enchanted, and I was afraid of it. In that moment, I was afraid of you, too. The power you held over me was seizing.

But I have gained my bearings. Of course, I cannot say that I love you, a stranger. I know near-nothing about you, and yet, in these sleep-laced hours before dawn, I wish I knew everything.

Sealed within this envelope are dried apple blossoms, birthed from a late-blooming tree. The little buds make the paper smell fragrant, but they also reminded me of our fleeting encounter. And of you; sweet and vibrant. Cheerful, even towards a person you had never spoken to. I hope they soften the suddenness of my letter.

In earnesty, I pray that you write back to me. Even if it is just to reprimand my audacious behaviour, that would be enough.

With sincerity,

E. Williams

#was inspired by that one letter by v sackville west to virginia woolf tbh #and romeo and juliet #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ellie williams fluff #poet!ellie #tlou fanfiction

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galaxygurlll · 6 months ago

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First Day - Aussie GP 2019 - Part 1

A new team? With two females? This is unheard of and will most certainly shake things up in F1! Meet Y/n Rose-Ocean and Evelyn Match as they get assigned seats into a new team into the F1, Porsche Royal racing. Y/n holds the number 38 whilst Evelyn holds the number 72. The two are introduced as rookies in the 2019 season, but, their area has been yet to be revealed, it being closed by tarps, and the two girls' identities have also remained a secret. Over time, even though she’s one of the youngest, she soon becomes the “grid aunt” and even “grid older/younger sister” as well.

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Previous chapter

Introduction: https://www.tumblr.com/galaxygurlll

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⬆️The Porche car

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y/n_ roseocean ✹

708 posts 1.63M followers 2003 following

🇦🇺 Formula 2 driver, photographer/videographer, youngest of 5, childhood bestie and fellow driving partner to evelynmatch7, and mother to my beautiful baby boy, River Scott!!! Oh! Also, I'm Vegan!

Followed by evelynmatch7, lance_stroll and 212 others

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NOTIFICATION ALERT!

1 NEW POST FROM y/n_roseocean

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My breakfast today!! Also just got back from my run as well 💜

❤️ 569K 💬 4,358 ✈️ 2,902

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evelynmatch7 Yes best friend! You go, queen!! But why so eeearlyyy...??? ❤️ by author

Liked by y/n_roseocean and 404 others

evelynmatch7 wowww... no response, I see how it is girly ❤️ by author

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allieform1 So good to see you happy and healthy!! ❤️ by author

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- y/n_roseocean So good to feel happy and healthy again!!!

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cloversand889 Ughhh I wish I could be like this daily

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-Y/n pov-

"Ev?" The older girl hums in response whilst looking out the one-way blacked-out windows, "I'm scared..." This causes her to turn to me, "What if no one likes us? I mean, there is absolutely no warning for this to be happening and-" she cuts me off with her left hand going over my mouth, "Y/n, sweetheart, we will be okay. If they hate us, they hate us. If they love us, they love us. Don't let that get to your head though, okay?" She asks and tells me to which I nod.

Upon removing her hand, she pulls me into a side hug before she grabs out her phone and we take a selfie together that will most likely be posted later on, after this scary reveal; if all goes down well, that is. Today, we're just checking out the track and area before FP1 in the next few days, but will need to wear our hoods up and glasses on as we can't be found out, not yet at least. Lance has somewhat caught on, but neither Ev nor I have given him a 'yes' or a 'no' answer.

The grid line-up is powerful, which is why I am worried.

Evelyn Match. Where do I even start with this girl? She's the sweetest human being alive but can also cause the most havoc if and when she wants to. She's a 24-year-old Thailand girl and is, obviously, a Formula (1) driver with me. Her hair is jet black and is quite long with chocolate oak eyes and relatively tanned skin. Being 5'8, she towers over me and my shorter form (NOTE: Doing it this way is easier for me to write for right now) which is hilarious to her but can also be seen as quite cute and adorable. Especially in arguments. She's been there for me since I was around 14 years old and she was 20 years old. Been a rock for me. Love her so very much.

"Y/n!" I jump and face Ev who looks at me pointingly, "We're here," she informs me and I look out the window that's to my left and see it there, my home track, the Australian Grand Prix. As quickly as possible, both me and Ev put on our sunnies and pulled up our hoods before checking each other to make sure that no hair stood out before grabbing our backpacks and jumping out on either side.

It's around 4:20am, and the only reason that we're here early, is to make sure that we can make it to the garage without anyone spotting us. My dad hops out of the driver's seat as one of my four older brothers, Javier, jumps out of the passenger seat. See, my four brothers and I, we're all adopted by two loving and caring fathers that adopted us all when we were just babies, me, of course, being the last one. Dominic is referred to as Dad, is 48 years old and is Australian/Greek and works as an all-round teacher at one of the schools close by whilst my other parent, Miguel, goes by Papá, is 59 years old, is Spanish and owns his own multi-milliner company that owns many music producing buildings and also does financial stuff that I find boring.

My eldest brother, Nolan, was born in America and is currently 29 years old and is an author, the next one down, Hassan, was born in India and is currently 27 years old and works as a baker by day and chef by night, the one after that is Javier, originally from Spain and was adopted at two years old and is now 26 and is a DJ, and the last brother of mine, Atlas, was born in Greece and is currently 24 years old and is a dancer/actor. And then, we have me. Y/n Rivera García Luna Ramírez Scott, an 18-year-old girl born and partially raised in Australia, Victoria, Melbourne, who had a passion for karting that started at the young age of 5 years old. I just use a nickname that was given to me by some of my close friends when I was around 7 years old as my last name on Instagram, Rose-Ocean, because I love both of those things. I still don't know why my parents adopted so many kids. And the fact that they accept me with my little adopted baby boy, River. But, that'll come later on. BACK TO THE STORY!

Of course, I couldn't hide this from some of my closest friends though, who, have also moved up in Formula 1 this year! That being - George Russell, who's driving for Williams, Alex Albon, who's driving for Toro Rosso, and finally, Lando Norris, who's driving for McLaren. They've actually kept this secret quite well, surprisingly well. Admittedly, I haven't known these boys as long as they've all known each other, only really knowing them for around two-three years prior to this year, but it's been great. Ev also reckons that I should let Lance know (even though he most likely, or even most definitely, already knows) but I just don't want to, just not yet at least.

As us four make our way through, we're greeted by the Team Principal, Aurel Hartmann, who is a 47-year-old man from Germany and is very kind and generous yet stern man who also hired his younger brother, Urs Hartmann, 35, as my performance engineer for the team. Ev has Callum Maxwell, 40, Scottish as hers. As he (Aurel) leads us towards the still hidden garage of Porche Racing, I'm getting nervous about hearing, and seeing, who mine and Ev's race engineers will be as all we've been told is that we'll be quite happy and pleased with them.

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-Time skip to garage, 3rd pov-

The group quickly sneak into the garage that is still yet to be uncovered, but will be on Thursday on media day which is in two days time. The girls are handed some booklets that hold what the final looks of their racing suits look like and stuff like that.

⬆️The racing suit

⬆️The racing helmet

The sponsors are also listed on the front, throughout on the edges, and on the back:

MECCA, Milo, KFC, ROBLOX, Headspace, Starbucks, Universal Studios, Pinterest, Upfield Holdings, and Dunkin' Donuts. Weird mix and a lot, am I right? I know. This is a lot to still take in for the two females as what they are going to be doing, will forever change this sport, forever.

Aurel then proceeds to lead the four of them over to the cars (see at top) that the girls will be driving during the Free Practices, Q1, Q2, Q3, and the races in the near and coming future. The girls have already been introduced to their cars but Dominic and Javier have not and they are in complete and utter awe. Javier has been in two garages before in the past, that being Red Bull and Mercedes, but never one like this. The car is new and freshly coated and has that new smell to it that everyone loves. The garage feels so lively and has a sweet sugary smell to it that is probably from the lollies that are alongside the back wall that also has other treats that are both sweet, savory and sour, sith some vegan, vegetarian, pescatarian and other diet food placed neatly around the large set-up.

Mechanics are hustling around going from place to place whilst saying their greetings and all in all, it's just a very happy and lively place to actually be inside of. It's beautiful. So very beautiful. Stunning, even. "You can take a closer look if you'd like Dominic and Javier," Aurel informs the two who then look like it's a full-time dream come true.

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Next chapter

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/galaxygurlll

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#formula 1 #f1 2019 #f1 driver!reader #lando norris #george russell #alex albon #lance stroll #max verstappen #lewis hamilton

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bambi-kinos · 11 days ago

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From Yulia-k ask. I'm adding a follow up question. I agree with your respond. Why is Paul basically saying that JOHN found Yoko, and JOHN was madly in love with Yoko and he, Paul had to make way for her, and John-Paul couldn't continue as it was. It just sounds like something is missing in his own choice in this, like the India theory, or that Paul rejected John. It more sounds to me in every shape and form that Paul lost John because he found Yoko. "Then came the lawyers" etc. From Paul's pov. Why was Paul finding Linda a bigger problem to Paul? Paul must have known how John was gonna react to that after all his jealousy from the past.

I actually have an earlier meta regarding this that you would find interesting! I'll also insert it into my queue.

To add on to what we said a few years ago, I think Paul gave up on the relationship and couldn't think of a way to save it, while still trying to cling to it. The description of the "I want a divorce" meeting has Paul flinging out options to John about what The Beatles could do next, so stuff like another tour, doing another movie (presumably a proper one and not another documentary.) Paul knew that it was done and over but he couldn't bring himself to make that break. In a way he forced John to end it because he didn't want to do it himself. Hence why Paul made the point a few times that John initiated the divorce first and Paul simply announced it to the media.

I don't think meeting Linda was necessarily a problem per se. It seems more like Paul sees her as a natural consequence of John deciding to go off with Yoko. It's important to remember that Yoko had been stalking John and following him, sending him used tampons, running into his car to sit between him and Cynthia, spamming him with phone calls to the point that John had to change Kenwood's landline number at least once, etc. She was a known problem and had a long history of harassment and stalking. Paul has more insight into her and John and I think he understood to a degree that her persistence was what John found attractive.

John decided to start going off with her in an official way and "accidentally" let Cynthia find him and Yoko eating breakfast together while Yoko wore Cynthia's bathrobe. Then John started divorce proceedings and Cynthia remarked in her book "John" that Paul was the only person in the media machine that had the balls to drive over to her house and comfort her. George, Ringo, Mal, George Martin everyone, was too scared of John to go see her and say "John is being a big piece of shit, I'm sorry." Meanwhile Paul took her a rose, bluntly told her that John was acting completely fucking nuts, and that he wished her well. He even made her a joking offer of marriage though I do wonder what would have happened if Cynthia had taken it. Julian would have grown up with a responsible male figure in his life at least.

So that happened either before or in the aftermath of the New York City trip, I can't remember the timeline properly. But all of that tension was floating in the background when John and Paul went to New York to promote Apple and that's when Paul invited Linda into his limo with him and John and in John's words "next thing I know she's married to him."

So to me it looks like Linda was Paul's solution to a specific problem: John using Yoko as a tool in his ongoing war on Paul and against the lotus eating machine that is The Beatles media conglomerate. John was addicted to heroin, starving himself because his eating disorder had totally distorted his body image, and then he latched on to Yoko because she encouraged his deluded fantasies about being a guru or a messiah hence the pharmacological delusion that was "Two Virgins" and the fantasy about being reborn as a 20th century Adam and Eve.

Paul knew that John was unstable and he simply stopped trusting him. He did not see a viable future with John due to John's drug abuse, years of inconsistent behavior, and then Brian dying the awful way he did. It was all going down the drain and Paul was freaking the hell out, hence he went on a spree of asking his girlfriends if they would marry him. They all said no except for Linda. John's jealousy simply stopped being a factor for Paul. John is jealous? So what? He's been jealous before, it didn't stop him from bullying Paul over LSD, it didn't stop him from running off to Barcelona, it didn't stop him from dating his stalker and bringing her to their recording sessions, it didn't stop him from abandoning his son. And then add on to that the fact that Paul's biological clock was going off: he wanted children of his own and with Brian dead there was no longer a visible path forward for two bisexual men to have a family together. Not in 1968. And Paul wasn't growing a set of ovaries and a uterus anytime soon so he couldn't make his own.

Whatever dreams Paul had of him and John going off on their own as Lennon-McCartney, whatever that looked like, burned to ashes. Paul woke up from their shared dream of a future together and he found a stable woman with a clear head who wasn't impressed by his Beatle status and was adventurous enough to marry a guy she had known for less than a year.

For Paul, who values stability and wanted to make a good home for his future children, the choice was clear. There was no path forward for him and John, not anymore, and John seemed completely uninterested anyway. Paul's insistence that John left him first is extremely important, not just because of the details of the divorce meeting, but because in 1968 Paul was coming to grips with the reality of the situation. That John did not love him anymore and didn't want to be with him anymore and instead wanted to humiliate him and degrade him instead out of some sort of hidden injury that we can only guess at.

As far as Paul was concerned John abandoned him first and didn't try to work it out. John actively cut himself out of their picture. Paul wanted children and didn't want someone with John's stability problems in their lives. He met Linda, took a deep breath, and jumped.

#mclennon #john lennon #paul mccartney #linda eastman #yoko ono #the beatles #post break up #beatles meta #my meta #talktalktalk #anonymous asks

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classiccowboy · 1 year ago

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instagram j.b.

summary: follow along with joe and his fiance evie as they go through his football career.

*face claim is Yasmin Quintana*

series masterlist

joeyb_9

liked by bengals, evie, and 829,726 others

joeyb_9: my spidey sense is starting to tingle a bit

view all 57,727 comments…

user: loser go bills

user: daddy burrow

user: how is ev?

> user: no one cares

user: JOE BRRRRR

evie: ok sexy.

> joeyb_9: 😉

> user: are you going to call off the engagement joe

user: bring some ice home this season

lahjay10_: 🤫🤫

user: slay

evie

liked by joeyb_9, bengals, and 928,926 others

evie: is it september yet? i miss football.

view all 54,836 comments…

*comments on this post are limited*

user: noooo not the username change

> evie: am i.. rebranding?

user: slayyy

millyg: i’m sorry, are those leather pants? in a casual setting? spicy..

> evie: 👀

user: why you no breezy anymore?

user: gorgeous, i hope you’re doing well!

> evie: i’m wonderful. 💗

user: i’m obsessed with you and joe! you’re my favorite couple.

> evie: thanks for the love.

user: LFG GO BENGALS

> evie: always!

joeyb_9

liked by bengals, lahjay10_, and 726,928 others

joeyb_9: preparing for invaders

view all 2,855 comments…

user: you are my american dream

user: i’d prepare for you whenever

user: a man? for me?

user: hit me in my dm’s when you drop your gf

> millyg: the disrespect is astounding. he doesn’t know you sis. sorry.

user: kirk cousins except with swag

evie: your tan skin! your sweet smile! so good to me, SO RIGHT!!!

> joeyb_9: i’ll hold you in my arms EVERY september night.

> user: STOP IT RIGHT NOW

user: ev and joe using taylor references, they are IT

user: i think i threw up a little

evie

liked by joeyb_9, millyg, and 860,245 others

evie: goodbye off season, you were a magical gift full of the people i love most. now its #gobengals

view all 278 comments…

*comments on this post are limited*

user: sending all my love

joeyb_9: i am an avacado toast hater.

> evie: at least you have good taste in women. 😉

user: it still blows my mind that ur casually dating joey b

> evie: so lucky to be loved by my jb.

user: jealous

lahjay10_: nah you fr leave me out this?

> evie: we are in a private relationship.

user: turn comments back on

user: how does it feel to live my dream?

> evie: it feels like.. well.. a dream.

user: i’m ready for ev in her WAG era

evie

liked by millyg, joeyb_9, and 916,729 others

evie: pov joey is behind the camera

view all 6,828 comments…

*comments on this post are limited*

user: i’m obsessed with ur love

millyg: you are sunshine in human form

> evie: i’ll cry rn.

user: are you kidding!!! the cutest?

user: a model

joeyb_9: pretty gal i love you

> evie: 💗💗💗

user: i’m sorry people are so mean ev, we love you.

> evie: yall make my heart smile. ☺️

joeyb_9

liked by bengals, evie, and 708,626 others

joeyb_9: ⏲️

view all 4,728 comments…

user: times up evie it’s my turn

user: ur the finest man alive joe

user: SHIESTYYYY

user: can we hang out

user: baby goat

evie: you are HIM baby

> user: dude is trash and you’re a loser for dating him

> user: everytime you call him baby i want to die

> user: you are cringe. disgusting. he deserves so much better

user: time to grind, hope you’re ready!

evie

liked by joeyb_9, millyg, and 1,737,973 others

evie: some of my thoughts: from the moment joe got drafted i always knew there was a chance people would react negatively to me, but i never wanted that fear to hinder who i am. i am a kind person, i am a supportive person, i love football, i love joe, i love sharing my life with people who enjoy me. i don’t want any of those things to change. so to those who choose to be unkind behind screens and anonymity, i encourage you take a moment and reflect. to make your heart the most beautiful thing about you, and simply let everything you do be lead with love.

view all 96,629 comments…

user: you are so beautiful and such a light

user: attention seeking

> joeyb_9: apparently you didn’t read the caption well enough.

> user: not joe in the comments 😳

user: yup this is our QUEEN 🥰🥰

joeyb_9: you deserve all the love and kindness this world has to offer. i’m so proud of you and the person that you are. i love you ev.

> evie: i love you with my whole entire heart jb. 🤍

user: i love this, you are such an inspiration to all of us.

millyg: the most beautiful heart and soul of anyone i know, the true light in the darkness. thanks for being you ev.

user: queen ev 👑👑👑

#nfl #nfl imagine #bengals #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow insta au #joe burrow instagram

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let-the-stars-guide · 2 months ago

Text

Answering prayers( Platonic! Venti x reader)

Parental Venti

More Venti comfort everyone!

Sorta Venti pov to the previous drabble "Lullabies and serenity)

A little enamored by Venti that loves his children dearly. It's canon that he still answers their prayers and look out for them.

Note:Expect drabbles time to time. It's easier to write a drabble than make a longer chapter.

This is the wrong account sos XD

I meant to post this on my writing account my bad lol.

@cosmosdisappear is my writing btw

"Dear Barbatos.."

"Dear, Anemo Archon.."

The interally monolouges of various people doing prayer, echoed in the woods he sat on. His eyes glowed as he went through each prayer one by one.

Some of his daily tasks other than observing his children, was answering prayers.

As an archon he was used to prayers that people sent his way to deal with. Things his beloved children asked for he would do his best to guide them. They had to learn to stand on their own after all.

"Dear Barbatos please give me some peace." This particular one was a bit familiar. This was that persom he spoke to a few days ago about that book of theirs right?

One of his beloved children in distress from their now new responsibilites as an adult. Most of his children eve tually found their calling in life and what they wanted to be or to do, this child seemed a hit lost like most.

This wasn't a suprise to him as this would not be the first or the last time that a child would ask him for guidance.

He did what he always did, give them little hints how to get through their problems. At first it seemed to be working, until they burned out.

Their thoughts that would carry from the wind became a bit worriesome. They saw themselves as a burden. They weren't a burden just a bit lost and stuck along the path.

They went this way? He could hear their feet guiding them towards, the beach? He sped up trying to catch up to them. He heard their directio change towards her tree.

His heart felt more light, as his steps slowed down. Step by step he made his way over.

Sure enough here you are.

He could see the dark circles under your eyes as you sat with a tired smile reading that book.

He hasn't heard that tale in awhile. It's one of the few barely spoken of to newer generations nowadays.

He came a bit closer to take a seat next to you. Maybe you would prefer to be alone?

"It's you again." You respond putting the book in your lap. Instead of the glare you gave him last time, a smile appeared on your face. Your tension eased speaking to him as if he was a friend of yours.

"I didn't know what to bring you, so I figured apples was the best price."

A basket of apples for him? Is he the one being blesssed now?

He picks up one before digging in. His mood improved as well, as he sat with you having a picnic.

"I wanted to thank you for that song from last time. I really needed it." You mess with your hair avoding his eyes.

Aw, were you embrassed~

"I'm happy that you seem to feel better." He gives a smile of his own. At least he was able to help even if it wasn't much.

#platonic venti #genshin venti #venti x reader #fluff #new friendships #genshin impact

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dewdropdinosaur · 4 months ago

Text

Smutmas Day 7 - In the (Saint) Nick of Time

Angel Dust x GN! Reader

(Third Person POV) Summary: Y/N finally managed to get their boyfriend off for the holidays. So, what should one do with their partner during this festive time? Absolutely everything on every surface, of course. Warnings: P in A sex, oral sex(male receiving), dom/sub dynamics, sex jokes, cum, use of sex toys, etc. MDNI, 18+. You're responsible for your own media consumption. Requested by the wonderful and kind @little-bloodied-angel

For the first time in forever, Y/N had managed to wrangle three glorious days off work. No emails. No meetings. No chaos—well, aside from the controlled chaos of spending it with their whirlwind of a boyfriend, Angel Dust. After a long and very…threatening meeting with the moth demon, Y/N had convinced Val that the Christmas shoot could wait and Angel needed time off.

It was Christmas Eve, and Y/N had been eagerly anticipating this chance to unwind and fully embrace the holiday spirit, wanting nothing more than to spend time with Angel without interruptions.

When they first told Angel about the time off, his reaction was predictably dramatic.

“Three whole days?” he gasped, clutching at his chest like they’d told him he won the lottery. “Babe, that’s practically a lifetime in your world!”

“It’s my gift to you,” they replied with a smirk, leaning against the kitchen counter. “But also, I wanted to….be with you properly this time.”

Angel’s grin turned devilish, his lashes fluttering. “Careful, sugar, you’re gonna make a spider blush.”

Y/N and Angel had planned the day down to the tiniest details. Matching Christmas sweaters were non-negotiable—at least, according to Angel. He’d dragged them into his favorite boutique weeks ago and convinced them to get a pair of obnoxiously festive pink sweaters. Glittering snowflakes adorned the fabric, with the words

“I COME IN PEACE” and “I’M PEACE” stitched in sparkling silver thread across the front.

At first, Y/N protested the idea, but the sight of Angel’s beaming face when they finally put it on had melted their resistance. Glitter and pink were always their favorite anyway.

The kitchen was warm and fragrant as Y/N took charge of cooking. The smell of cinnamon, cloves, and butter filled the air, and they were laser-focused on preparing a picture-perfect Christmas dinner.

Angel, naturally, insisted on helping.

“Helping,” as it turned out, was a mix of taste-testing everything, sprinkling glitter on cookies, and being a shameless flirt pinning their partner to the wall whenever Y/N tried to focus.

“How ’bout I handle dessert, hot stuff?” Angel teased, sneaking up behind them and wrapping his arms loosely around their waist. “I got a few ideas—”

“You mean eating all the frosting straight out of the bowl?” Y/N quipped, raising an eyebrow.

Angel gasped, clutching his chest. “I would rather eat another creamy item than that, toots—”

Despite the antics, Y/N and Angel ended up covered in flour and other…sticky substances. Hair was disheveled, cookies burnt, and clothing pooled at the ankles on the floor. Y/N’s tongue swiped over the head of his member, enjoying the salty taste that filled their mouth, contrasting to the sugar they had placed on it earlier. Taking him all suddenly, causing the spider demon to choke out such a delicate whine that would make even the best in the industry not question its authenticity, Christmas Eve was sure good at giving.

After dinner came the presents.

Y/N had gone all out, gifting Angel a series of thoughtful items: a scrapbook filled with their favorite memories, a custom scarf in his signature shade of pink, and a pair of sparkling heels he’d been eyeing for months but never bought for himself. Along with some other gifts…a new quiet large strap to try out and some fuzzy handcuffs for the season.

Angel gasped theatrically at each gift, immediately trying on the heels and strutting around the living room like it was a runway while having the handcuffs on for dramatic effect. “Toots, I look too good. It’s a crime!”

Then it was Y/N’s turn. Angel handed them a glittery bag stuffed with tissue paper and grinned as they dug in. Inside was a mix of sweet and scandalous: a framed photo of the two of them with “My Favorite View” scrawled on the back in Angel’s messy handwriting, followed by a set of pink faux-fur handcuffs and a silk blindfold.

Y/N blinked, holding up the cuffs with a deadpan expression.

“Guess we both really went for a theme this year, huh?”

“‘Tis the season to be spicy,” Angel quipped, winking.

“Oh don’t tease me now, Star.”

Quick fingers traced up Angel’s waist, pretending to softly caress, before pulling the waistband of his shorts down. Angel let out a gasp of surprise that was quickly replaced by a soft sigh when Y/N came to stand behind him.

“No underwear, Star? You must have really planned this out.”

“Oh come on toots, you know how much I love ya—“

Flipping Angel over on his stomach, Y/N had Angel suck on their finger before adding it to his welcoming hole. Prepping him for what was to come. Angel’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body subconsciously shifted toward the welcomed stimulation. Soon, Y/N removed their hand and placed the strap they had bought on, adjusting it accordingly before lining it up.

“You ready, Angel?”

“Fuck am I ever—“

Slowly sliding the cock in, Y/N stretched Angel, both men moaning at the sensation and sight. Thrusting, taking their time to draw out every beautiful and sincere noise, Y/N relished in the sight below them. A beautiful demon, all theirs, to cherish and pleasure. The best holiday gift. Angel, slightly displeased at the gentle pace, bucked his hips backward in an attempt to garner more attention. Smirking, Y/N picked up the pace, driving deeper.

“Careful, Star. Or you’ll get what you wish for.”

Mind clouded by desire, Angel could barely think straight, attention centered on Y/N and what they were doing to him. Hitting all the right places, causing his head to throw back in pleasure. It’s all too much and soon he’s cumming without warning, a pornographic moan passing his lips unrestrained.

Coming down from his high, his eyes crack open to turn back and see Y/N smirking, pulling out slowly and relishing in the shiver that runs down Angel’s spine.

——EXTRA CUT SCENE————————————————

By the end of the night, they were snuggled up on the couch, the remains of…dessert forgotten as they shared lazy kisses under a fuzzy blanket. That’s when Angel suddenly sat up, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Hold up, babes—I got one more thing for ya!”

Before Y/N could ask, he darted into the other room and returned with something hidden behind his back. With a dramatic flourish, he revealed a gleaming menorah and a box of candles, along with a plate of sufganiyot dusted with powdered sugar.

Y/N’s breath caught, their chest tightening with emotion.

“Angel…”

“So, I did some Googling,” he began, twirling a lock of his hair nervously. “Turns out, Chanukah starts tomorrow, and I didn’t wanna miss out on celebrating it with ya, y’know? Since you’re, like, officially Jewish and all now.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes as they took the menorah from him, their fingers brushing against his.

“Angel, this is… this is so thoughtful. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all mushy on me,” he muttered, though the pink on his cheeks betrayed him. “But, uh, I got no clue how to do the whole candle thing, so you’re gonna have to show me.”

Together, they lit the first candle, the soft glow reflecting in Angel’s shimmering eyes as he held their hand. A perfect holiday indeed.

#hazbin hotel fandom #romance #answered #vizziepop #request #smutmas #dino's smutmas #angel dust smut #angel dust hazbin hotel #angel dust x reader #angel dust imagine #hazbin hotel smut

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yuna542 · 4 months ago

Text

🔙 [9.]

~The Devil in Person~

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Reader/Oc

Genre: Fluff, Enemies to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Drama, Action

Warnings: Physical Violence, Physical Fight, mentions of blood and alcohol

Taglist: Open

Word count: 4k

Summary: The Kook princess is back after a year and reignites the war between Pogues and Kooks on Kildare. But she quickly realizes that after this year, nothing is the same as before. Deception, secrets from the past, and dangerous conspiracies sweep across Kildare, leaving her no choice but to work with the Pogues and her personal nemesis to find the truth and maybe even $8 million. A dangerous treasure hunt begins that turns her world upside down.

Soundtrack:

⏯️Play: You should see me in a crown by Billie Eilish

„You should see me in a crown

I'm gonna run this nothing town

Watch me make 'em bow

One by one“

JJ Pov.

When I spotted Kiara, I breathed a sigh of relief. At least she was keeping me company in this hell on earth. John B hadn't shown up on time, so I had to come up with one silly excuse after another to explain why he wasn't there for his first day of work.

Seeing Kiara in a gown and dressed up like a doll was always strange. It seemed like a disguise. A costume that didn't quite seem to fit her, even if she did look beautiful.

Pope and his dad wouldn't show up here until seven. It was still two seemingly endless hours until then.

1300 damn dollars we had to get to pay for the damage to the Camerons' garbage can and Rafe's stupid jacket. For that we escaped a suspended sentence for burglary and property damage, but it still sucked that John B, Pope and I now had to slave away at the fucking Kooks' party to pay the fine. Here we would make maybe $100. For the next few weeks we had to do any job we could get.

Who knew those big garbage cans were worth a fortune?

However, the look on Rafe's and the other Kooks' faces had been priceless.

I plucked at the damn bow tie for the hundredth time. John B had only had this colorful one left for me. Plus the waiter costume I felt more than uncomfortable in. I missed my cap and hated every second on this kook circus.

More and more of them were arriving. All in ridiculous costumes and with put on politeness. How I hated these snobs.

It was about time my friends showed up before I poured the entire bottle over the blonde head of the arrogant cow who asked me to pour her wine for the fourth time.

It was humiliating enough serving the Kooks and being shooed around, but to make matters worse, there came Rafe, Kelce, Topper and a bunch of the other assholes to the porch where dinner was being held.

They all looked ridiculous with their colorful suits and ties. Like the Power Puff girls in action: When Rafe spotted me, he fixed me with a look that bore right through me.

I just grinned and waved at him provocatively before moving on to serve the next drinks.

However, it was obvious from his eyes alone that the dynamite thing wasn't done for him yet. Especially since Diaz was back on the island, Rafe seemed more aggressive and unpredictable than usual.

At half past five, John B finally showed up.

"Shit, there you are at last. I had to tie this stupid bow tie all by myself. Come on, help me!", I said and pressed two Pina Coladas into his hands.

He looked completely lost and his hair was a mess. He wore a white shirt and a vest that was much too big for him. Probably from his father. However, he was wearing an equally colorful bow tie, which calmed me down a bit.

"Sorry. The Twinkie just didn't start and I had to go to the police again."

On the side, I mixed two caipirinhas and frowned.

"Why? Did they want something else?"

Together we walked to the tables and I pointed to the old man who had ordered the drinks. We served the glasses with a friendly smile and went back to the bar, slightly off to the side.

"I testified that Pope and Kiara weren't there. You'll have to do that too."

Sure... John B and I were trusted to do the whole thing anyway. Even if it hadn't been us, the poor saps with no real family, one father missing, the other an aggressive alcoholic, were the most likely to be blamed. But for Pope, his scholarship was at stake and Kiara's parents didn't want her to spend any time with us at all. If there were a string of felonies on top of that, they'd probably send her to boarding school. Or even to that sick retreat camp they told her Horror Stories about when she misbehaved.

So I nodded.

"Sure. Okay."

I would go through hell for my friends. They were my family and everything I cared about here in the Outer Banks.

John B helped me with the drinks. Fortunately, this wasn't the first time we'd had to work as waiters.

But I liked fixing cars or ship engines better. Even delivering with Pope was better than this.

"Is the martini gluten-free, too?" asked a put-upon snarky voice behind us.

As we turned around, befuddled, John was amazed at the sight of Kiara.

She had her hair up and was wearing a beige dress that made her look like one of the rich girls. That's when I remembered that she was actually one of those girls. When you spent time with her, you forgot that really quickly.

"Wow... That's...", John B stuttered as they gave each other our typical handshake in greeting.

"It's a dress. Yes I know," she replied, crossing her arms.

"I like it. You look like a real kook," I teased her and saw an old man give a hand signal that he wanted to order something. Sighing, I patted John B on the shoulder and went on my way.

He told Kie about the testimony before he too went to work and we hurried between the tables.

At seven, Pope showed up with his dad and helped him with the deliveries and later at the grill.

When things quieted down since everyone was served, I joined him. He was wearing a brown apron and thick gloves. Fortunately, it wasn't as hot today as the last few days and there was always a pleasant breeze driving across the coast.

"Cute," he commented on my getup, pointing to the bow tie.

"Screw you," I laughed, running a hand through my hair.

"They're having a party over on the other side," he remarked as we watched the tables.

In fact, I had already heard the music from inside.

"Have you seen the Camerons yet?", I asked in passing, but Pope just shook his head.

"So far, only Rafe."

Unconsciously, I had been on the lookout for Diaz all evening, after all, she was never absent from events like this, and where Sarah was, Skylar wasn't far behind.

That's when John B joined us with Kie, who now also managed to sneak away successfully.

"You guys look really adorable next to each other," Kiara laughed as John B leaned against the fence next to me. In response, I flipped her off.

"What's it about?" asked JB curiously, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"The Camerons are throwing the party, but they're nowhere to be seen. Neither is Diaz," I explained, scanning the crowd again for the Kook Princess' dark curls.

"Do you miss her that much already?" said Kiara sarcastically, to which I snorted derisively.

"She can go to hell. That arrogant little..."

"Speaking of the devil…," John B interrupted me then, and sure enough, out of the main entrance now stepped Ward Cameron with his wife, along with Richard Leroy. He had longer hair, but the same cold eyes and stern face as before. He was wearing a black suit that probably cost more than the Pogue and was talking animatedly with Ward.

Behind them, Sarah and Skylar followed.

"You could be right about Devil," I muttered absently, as I couldn't stop staring at the dark-haired girl in the wine-red dress.

She reminded me of a goddess or the devil himself as she tossed her hair back and strutted over to the porch. The dark red of the dress perfectly matched the caramel complexion of her skin and ebony curls.

The fabric of the dress clung to her curves like a second skin, revealing her naked skin at the back.

That's when Stan, the boss of this bar showed up, apparently looking for us.

"Work calls," I muttered, not having quite recovered from Diaz's appearance. John also kept glancing over at her as we came back out onto the porch, but his gaze was diverted by Sarah.

Sky was greeted effusively by several people until she joined Rafe and Topper with Sarah. In doing so, she did not dare looking at me with a glance, although I was sure she had seen me.

John B was serving the adults' table, so I had to move over to the Kooks' table with my lips pressed together. I had been dreading this moment all evening.

"Can I get you guys something to drink?"

It wasn't until I addressed her that she interrupted her conversation with Rafe and eyed me suspiciously. We both still had our last argument in mind.

She looked even more stunning up close. The full lips were made up blood red and her eyes reminded of liquid chocolate, framed by long thick eyelashes and curved eyebrows.

Her cleavage was especially highlighted by the dress. The girl who were washed up with the Greg Noll in front of my house was hardly recognizable.

"Yes. A Mai Tai for me, please. You know what that is, right?"

Innocently, she put on a questioning look, but the provocation was more than clear.

"Of course."

"Good, Sarah, what do you want?"

The blonde girl was the only one to give me a tight smile, obviously unsure if she could allow herself to order a cocktail so bluntly in front of her father. Sky didn't seem to mind at all that her stepfather was sitting just one table over.

"A glass of white wine."

I nodded curtly, and at that moment our eyes crossed. Sky had a strange glint in her eyes. Ever since the altercation at the Château, she seemed belligerent. Like a predator waiting for its prey to venture out of its den.

"Come on! The young ladies are waiting," Rafe suddenly hissed irritably, which jolted me out of my stupor.

Sky gave me one last look through her thick lashes and then turned to Sarah. I couldn’t get rid of the thought, that she was pissed and angry especially at me…

I forcefully stopped myself from commenting on Rafe's stupid suit and prepared the drinks at the bar.

As I served the glasses, Sarah mumbled a quick thank you and I accidentally grazed Sky's arm. But as I looked at her, I doubted it had been an accident on her part.

Our faces suddenly hovered close to each other.

"You should pay close attention today. You didn't just messed it up with a random Kook," she whispered barely audibly, and though she said it with a sweet smile, the threat behind the words was unmistakable. One only had to glance at Rafe's angry face to know what she was alluding to. His head grew a shade redder every second I spent near Sky.

"Is that supposed to be a threat, princess?", I whispered just as softly.

But even behind her eyes, I recognized the chilling coldness that only reinforced the hostility between us.

"Just a hint, Pogue."

She held me captive just by that feather-light touch on my arm, and I couldn't stop staring at her lips.

It wasn't until she lifted her hand, releasing my whole body with it, that I was able to move again and turn away from the table.

Only when I was back at the bar did I dare to let go of the breath I had been holding until then.

Today I definitely had to stay out of the Kooks' way. As long as we were among people here, Rafe wouldn't dare start a brawl, but that didn't calm the unease inside me one bit. We were on enemy territory here and gradually I began to realize that the whole thing was a big trap that had been set for us by the Kooks. Sky had a plan, I was sure of it by now.

„Is everything alright, bud?“, John B asked while we were cleaning glasses at the bar.

„I‘m pretty sure Diaz wants to kill me“, I explained obviously a bit on edge.

„After what you said to her at the chateau? Yes probably“, Kiara commented while sipping on her drink. That didn’t help at all.

Finally, at nine o'clock our shift was over and most of the guests were already heading home. John B and I said goodbye to Mr. Dooley, the boss of the bar, and hurried through the aisles, finally getting the hell out of this cursed place. My motorcycle was parked at the front of the road and the Twinkie right next to it. We just had to make it there and then we would be safe. That's when Pope ran after us and stopped us.

"Guys, they're on the terrace!" he warned us, but it was already too late. Alarmed, we gave each other a panicked look, and by then Topper, Rafe, and Kelce were already coming through the front door, which was supposed to be our escape route.

"Shit!" it escaped me and we immediately ran in the other direction. As fast as I could, I weaved my way through the rooms until I arrived at the restrooms.

Panicked, I rattled the doors, but each was locked. John B and Pope came into the room behind me, breathing heavily.

"Fuck! Shit!", I cursed over and over as the prospect of escape diminished.

"There's three of them. So are we. We can take on them," I reasoned aloud as John B also tried doors but failed miserably.

"Are you insane?" escaped Pope, who had fear sweat on his forehead.

"There's never just three of them, dude!", John agreed with him.

That's when John B finally got lucky with a door and I had slipped through before he opened it properly. But that's when I realized our mistake.

The Kooks had simply walked across the patio once around the house and were now coming to the opposite door into the dressing room.

Before I could react, Rafe had punched me and my head was thrown back.

Kelce and Topper took advantage of the moment to grab me.

I yanked on their tight grips, but Rafe punched me in the stomach so hard that I doubled over, gasping.

At that moment John rushed in and was about to pounce on Rafe, but he had reckoned with it and shoved him against the wall in such a way that he hit the back of his head hard and went down immediately.

Pope was caught in the hallway by two more Kooks, who also dragged him into the dressing room. He didn't put up any more of a fight when he saw John B and me caught.

The rage in my belly boiled so high that I bared my teeth and tore at Kelce's and Topper's arms like a wild animal.

Behind Rafe, another Kook made himself known, dragging the apathetic John B to his feet.

He tried to fight back, but the redhead, who had just been holding Pope, came to the other's aid and pinned him to the wall.

Pope was now trapped in a headlock and I, too, saw little chance of escape.

"Finally got you, assholes," Rafe warbled, grinning smugly.

His attention turned to me and he cracked his knuckles as if to prepare himself.

An iron taste was already spreading in my mouth, but it was nothing I hadn't experienced countless times before.

"Hold him tight so I can hit him right!" he instructed his friends, who painfully twisted my arms behind my back so I stood upright. One wrong move and they would dislocate both my shoulders.

He gyrated his wrist as if to warm up.

"Really cute costumes you guys have. Was there a bulk discount in the children's department?", I asked provocatively, unable to keep from grinning despite my predicament. Rafe only got angrier and a mad glint entered his eyes before he lashed out and punched me square in the face. It was a dull sound and everything around me went black until I slowly opened my eyes again and bright flashes twitched through the air everywhere.

I spat a gush of blood on the ground in front of him and returned his gaze unflinchingly.

"You hit like a girl," I continued to provoke, smiling. His anger that I showed no fear or remorse made the throbbing in my head only half as bad. Blood was pouring out of my nose and the side of my lip had split open again in the same place as last time.

"Shit JJ, just shut up!" whimpered Pope, giving a pained gasp as the giant behind him increased the pressure on his neck.

Seeing my friends like this was too much.

"Three against one... Are you that afraid of me you pathetic little son of a…?", I continued to tease, and a guttural sound escaped me as he lashed out again and my head was thrown back painfully.

„Pussy!“, I screamed in his face as the next punch already almost threw me of my feet. But Topper and Kelce held me tightly upright.

„Do you ever stop talking, Maybank? Should we find out what it takes to finally shut you up, huh?“

His voice was echoing through my consciousness through the throbbing in my ears. My field of vision was blurry, but I could see Rafe shaking his head angrily as I glared at him with a wry grin.

There he was about to lash out again, but he paused as a soft voice cut through the atmosphere.

"Rafe, that's enough!"

I had to squint my eyes, but I recognized Sky immediately as she stepped out from behind him. I hadn't even noticed how she had walked in. Maybe she was there already from the beginning.

The clicking of her heels on the wooden floor was the only sound for a few seconds. She walked to John B first and lifted his head by his hair slightly to see how hard it had hit him.

„Poor Routledge boy… Aren’t you tired of cleaning up your buddy’s mess?“, she sighed.

When his eyelids fluttered at that, she let go of him and turned to the two Kooks holding him.

"God, let those two go! Or do they look like a threat to you?" she said, giving Pope a curt look that almost looked like pity.

Then she harshly pushed Rafe aside and finally stood in front of me.

It was very obvious who was the one in charge now. Rafe had no power over the Kooks anymore. It was crazy that she just had to enter the room, to get all attention. All the Kook-Goons were literally at her feet, waiting for instructions.

She inspected me, like a stray-dog she had picked up off the street, and seemed to be weighing whether I was worth saving or not.

"Rafe that's a bit primitive..." she commented, suddenly stepping very close to me.

„You ruined his pretty face again…“

All eyes were on her and even the muscleheads and the psychopath Rafe seemed to be listening to what she was saying.

Amazed, I noticed that she smelled like a mixture of fresh roses and the beach on a sunny day.

"The princess herself. What an honor. Hope the cocktail suited your taste," I scoffed, trying not to get lost in those inscrutable eyes again.

She just twisted her red lips into a smile and that's when I felt her fingers slip into my pants pockets. First the ones in the back and when she couldn't find what she wanted, also in the front.

„It was a bit too sweet… but I wasn’t really expecting much.“

At the same time her lips were so close to mine that it would have been easy to overcome the distance.

I froze as her hands groped in my pockets for the motorcycle key. I could feel her cool fingertips through the fabric and shivered lightly.

Now I understood why the boys didn't make a sound. It was that effect she had on people. When she entered the room, all eyes were on her. There was something mysterious and sensual about her that I noticed for the first time.

Maybe I had just taken a blow too hard, but I couldn't stop imagining what she would look like under that dress, with my hands all over those pretty tits, that peeked out.

Her mere touch made me unable to think straight. Her slender fingers found the key and pulled it out of my pocket.

"Did you get what you wanted?" asked Rafe, annoyed, and that's when she took a step back.

She looked at the key and then ran to John B, where she found the Twinkie key directly in his back pants pocket.

"Now yes."

Something was on the girl's mind, but for the life of me I couldn't tell what it was.

Rafe took the opportunity to place himself in front of me and I was already preparing for the next blow.

"Rafe it's enough! I think he gets it," Sky said and sure enough, after a few seconds he let go of me.

"Go on, get out of here before they ask for you! I'll see you back at my place in a bit."

Rafe nodded at her and seemed pleased with what he had done. John B groaned as he slowly regained consciousness.

Then Sky stepped in front of me again and eyed me coolly.

She leaned close to me, brushed a strand of bloody hair out of my face, grabbed my chin, so that I had to look her in those hypnotising gems of eyes and whispered so that only I could hear her:

"Maybe you were right about everything you said about me. Except for one thing. I'm not his lapdog. As you saw, he's mine."

With that, she let go of me and walked to the door with our keys. I only now realized that I had been holding my breath and couldn’t stop my hammering heart.

"And now, for one evening, let's just get drunk. Leave those Pogues alone! Kelce tell everyone, Topper get alcohol and come to my place with Sarah! We'll party on at my place! It’s time that everyone knows, that I’m back on Kildare! And someone needs to get rid of that blood on the floor…“ she determined and was out of the room before anyone could react.

When the Kooks finally disappeared, John stood up straight again and rubbed the back of his head.

"You okay, JB?", I asked directly, still far too confused to realize what had just happened.

"I am, but you look like shit, bro," he replied, and Pope's eyebrows furrowed uncertainly as he eyed my face as well.

"It’s not that bad," I dismissed it, though the taste of blood just wouldn't leave my mouth.

"There you are!" came from the door.

Kiara came rushing in, eyes wide.

"Shit, what did those assholes do?"

"JJ couldn't keep his mouth shut..." said Pope, sitting down on the bench, breathing heavily.

Kie anxiously took John's face in her hands, looking for serious injuries.

"It's going to be a bump, but other than that I'm fine," he assured her.

Then she looked at my face. I didn't even want to know what I looked like again. She pulled a cloth napkin out of her purse.

"Here, wipe the blood off with this!"

While I pressed the cloth to my lip, John grabbed his forehead with both hands.

"Shit JJ. The keys!"

Only now was I starting to realize it too.

"Sky came up to me and said if you want your stuff back, we should come to the party at Lionelly Ville."

In disbelief, we all stared at Kie.

"A Kook party? No way!" snapped Pope.

"Apparently everyone's invited. She even posted it."

Kie pulled out her phone and showed us the post. "Kooks, people from the Cut, and tourists. Anyone with the time and inclination is invited," she explained, tapping the attached address.

So that had been her plan. She wanted us to come to her party, but why? To play some more sick games?

The spirit of adventure and, as it were, curiosity stirred in me. I was dying to know what happened next, and I definitely didn't want to let the Kook princess win in the process. Even though this round definitely was hers.

"Then let's go to Lionelly Ville," I announced and already had the door handle in my hand.

"Are you serious?" asked John B, aghast.

"Sure. You want the key back for the Twinkie? Well, I definitely want the one for my motorcycle. Besides, I could use a little booze and partying right about now. If I'm invited to the biggest and most luxurious estate on Kildare, I don't want to miss it."

John B was the first to give in and nodded. Then Pope followed and finally Kie too. We were a team, after all, and secretly each of us was curious about what Lionelly Ville was like.

Tanney Hill was already impressive, what did the Diaz family mansion then look like?

⬇️

[10.]

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